Sympathy for the Devil
by Burked
Summary: G/S Final Chapter up. Nothing like a castration to get your attention!
1. Default Chapter

**Title:               **Sympathy for the Devil

**Author:           **Burked

**Disclaimers:   **CSI is a registered trademark of CBS, Inc.  

**Rating:            **R for disturbing content****

**Summary:       SS, CW, and GG work on a case that has them examining their commitments to their ethics.**

**A/N:                We're all grown-ups here, right?  We should probably figure that in 15 months of dating, Sara and Hank did the dirty deed at least once.  However, for the purposes of this story (and keeping my dinner down), let's pretend it never happened, okay?  Just think of it a blatant plot device;  that's all Hank ever was.**

Thanks to all who have read this and have given me feedback.  Special thanks to Mossley and LSI for the close readings and good ideas – you are the best.

"Well, if it isn't Thelma and Louise," Brass chuckled, then threw his hands up in mock-surrender at the death glares being shot at him by Catherine Willows and Sara Sidle.

"Considering our histories with men, you should probably not plant any ideas," Sara shot back.

"Oooo, makes me glad I was never involved with either of you," Brass quipped.

"Not nearly as glad as we are, I bet," Catherine snorted.

"That hurt," Brass whined, holding a hand over his heart.

"Brass, do we have to find the body ourselves, or are you going to give us a hint?" Sara asked, looking up and down the street for the 419 Brass had called in.

"Patience, patience," he said, holding up a hand.  "I wanted to talk to you for a second first, before you get to the body.  Actually, I was kind of hoping Grissom would come for this one.  Maybe bring one of the guys."

"I'm going to try really hard not to take that personally," Catherine said.

"No, no, nothing personal against either of you ladies," Brass backpedaled.  "It's just sort of an ... uh ... uncomfortable ... crime scene to share with mixed company."

"Well, deal with it or call in a female detective, because we're here and we'd like to start processing the body before all the evidence is lost ... if that's okay with you," Catherine spat out.

"Follow me," Brass uttered, turning down the alley that intersected the street where they had met.  He led them down about fifty feet, just on the far side of a dumpster that was surrounded by mounds of bagged trash.

"I've heard of this before, but I've never actually seen it," Sara said calmly, pulling her camera up to take locator shots of the body lying amongst the black bags.  She took out her yellow scale ruler and a case identifier card, looking expectantly at Brass.  He rattled off the case number for Sara to write on the card, then stepped back to allow the female CSIs to begin doing their jobs in earnest.

Catherine scanned the area around the body, but found nothing that appeared to relate to the corpse, so she gingerly made her way through the maze of trash to approach the body.  "Castrated," she intoned evenly, looking first at Sara, then turning to Brass.  Brass looked down at the body and winced, then turned away, bringing involuntary grins to Catherine and Sara.

"The motive for these types of mutilations is usually retribution for cheating," Sara recounted, snapping pictures of the wound.

"You have no idea how tempting it can be," Catherine mumbled, as she scanned the victim's clothing for trace evidence.

"Oh, I think I do," Sara smiled.

"See, this is why I wanted the guys to do this one," Brass complained good-naturedly.  "They could identify with the victim instead of the perpetrator."

"You mean to imply that you are _all_ lying, cheating bastards?" Sara asked.

"I'm just going to shut up now before I find myself duct-taped and castrated like this poor guy," Brass conceded.

"Did you find his genitalia anywhere?" Catherine queried, lifting up each sack of trash around him, looking for the rest of the victim.

"Naw.  Maybe she kept it as a souvenir," he posited.

"You are assuming a woman did this?" Sara asked Brass.

"I don't know many men who would do this to another man.  I mean, it hurts just to think about it," he said, his face pinched in pain.

"This isn't a typical female MO, either," Sara explained.  "Most women who castrate do it while the man is sleeping, then leave him wherever she found him.  They don't usually dump the body.  Most women aren't strong enough to move the body in the first place," Sara rejoined, shaking her head and the already-appearing inconsistencies in this case.

David Phillips backed the van down the alley, stopping a few feet shy of the dumpster, smiling happily to himself when he saw Sara in the rear-view mirror.  He pulled the gurney out of the back and dragged it over to the body.  Like Brass before him, David winced and suddenly sucked a breath through clenched teeth when he saw what had happened.  

The two women fought to maintain their composure.  It was not that they thought what happened to the victim was funny – they certainly did not.  It was the reaction of the men viewing it that was amusing to them.

"You know, Catherine," Sara said tiredly, "we're going to have to lug all this trash back to the lab.  His genitals could be in one of these bags."

"Uh ... I don't think so," David said meekly, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

Sara and Catherine looked at him expectantly, eyebrows raised.  "What makes you say that?" Sara finally asked.

David took a pair of forceps and gingerly peeled back the duct tape across the victim's mouth and handed the tape to Sara to log as evidence.  As soon as the tape released the lips, the ladies nodded to David that they understood what he meant.

"Okay, never mind the trash bags.  Looks like our victim's all here, just ... uh ... rearranged," Sara said, eliciting another wince from the two men.

David asked if Sara or Catherine had any special instructions, then bagged and loaded the victim.  The CSIs photographed the bags, opening several to see that they obviously originated from the restaurant that backed up to the alley.  

"If we're done here, let's follow David in and get a ten-card on this guy.  We might get him identified before the autopsy is completed," Catherine suggested, to Sara's nodding agreement.

* * * * * 

She sat looking at the printout, hoping the next name would jump out at her.  She only had a week to make sure the unlucky bastard still lived at the address printed below his name.  She would need to watch him, scout out his weaknesses ... besides his most obvious one.  

She had already devoted six months of preparation for her plan.  She had gathered all the information she could on the detectives and forensic scientists who worked the night shift at LVPD.  She read articles, went to press conferences and even took a tour of the police department.  She felt confident that she knew what she needed to know for right now about those she hoped would be more worthy adversaries.  She would learn more as the contest progressed.

She never could understand why it had been so hard for the police in the other cities.  She felt like she had done everything she could to help them, short of turning herself in with evidence in hand.  

As usual, she had done her research and had determined that Las Vegas had a good police department and one of the best forensics labs in the country.  Maybe they would be able to do what could not be done in two other cities.  

As her highlighter found the next name, she sat back and wondered if she should contact the investigators yet.  She always hated the first few weeks, watching them flail around helplessly like fish out of water.  She thought of the pettiness of some of the criminal miscreants who delighted in the initial confusion.  They stupidly thought that meant that they were smarter than the police.  They were rarely right.

But she didn't want the investigators to think that she thought them unworthy.  That was yet to be seen.  Maybe she would let them work on the first one alone.  Then she would contact one of them, to see how well they had progressed.  If they needed help, she would help.  If not, all the better.

"Mr. Richard Hernandez," she read solemnly.  "You have six more days to infect the earth."

* * * * *

David had delivered the evidence bags to Sara.  He watched her admiringly as she signed the chain of custody forms for each piece.  Occasionally, she would feel him staring at her and she would look up and smile wanly, hoping he would get the hint.

After her own examination, Sara took the clothes to the Trace Lab, finding herself both mortified and relieved that Hodges was on duty.  She was sure that in all of her existence she had never met anyone she disliked more than Hodges on a purely visceral level.  As far as she could tell, he had only one redeeming value:  he was very good at his job.  She hated it when talented people were complete assholes;  it made it such a challenge to give them the respect they were due.

Sara had already looked over the clothing for trace evidence but found nothing.  She wasn't going to waste any more time on it.  If there was anything there, Hodges would find it.  If he didn't, she could rest assured that there simply wasn't anything there to begin with.  

She took the strips of duct tape that had covered the victim's mouth and bound his hands and feet, then put the bags in the freezer.  She made a mental note of the time, telling herself to give them an hour to freeze solid.  

Sara decided that it would be a good time to eat lunch.  The ten-card was with Jacqui, the tox, DNA and blood samples with Greg, trace with Hodges, and the tape in the freezer.  Nothing to do now but wait.  Sara was very patient when it came to work, but she was very impatient when it came to inactivity.

She combed the halls looking for Catherine, to see if she wanted to grab a bite.  Not finding her, she called her on the cell.  Catherine told her that she and Brass were canvassing the restaurants in the neighborhood, determining if anyone remembered seeing the victim alive.

Sara told her of her own progress and hung up.  Despite the strangeness of the case, she was in a relatively good mood.  She had been sleeping a little more lately, more out of boredom than necessity.  She found that, not surprisingly, she felt less irritable when she got more than four hours of sleep.  But she still couldn't understand why people would voluntarily waste a third of their lives unconscious.

She walked into the break room to find Grissom drinking a cup of coffee and working a crossword puzzle.

"Taking a break?" she asked lightly, walking over to the coffee pot.

"Um hum," he mumbled, eyes and pencil moving across the paper.

"Have you eaten?" she asked.

"Huh?" he asked distractedly.

"I said, have you eaten?" she repeated, a little louder and more clearly enunciated.

"No," he said without looking up.

"You want to go grab some lunch?  My treat," she offered evenly.

Grissom looked up briefly, then back down.  "No."

"Not like a date lunch, Grissom.  You eat with the others all the time.  It's just lunch.  If you want, I'll go get it, bring it back and we can eat it in here.  I'm hungry and I don't want to eat lunch alone."

"Where's Catherine?" he asked.

"She's with Brass.  And I have Greg and Jacqui busy on evidence.  Nick and Warrick are in the field.  Archie is off tonight.  David is assisting Dr. Robbins on the autopsy on my victim.  See?  I already tried everyone else.  Hell, I would have gone with Hodges, if I didn't have him looking for trace," she laughed.

"So that means I am the absolute last person you wanted to eat with?" he asked, looking up with an unreadable expression.

"No, it means that you are the absolute last person I thought would say 'yes', and I guess I was right," she said, pouring her coffee in the sink and tossing the cup in the trash.  "Sorry to have interrupted your puzzle," she said acidly, as she marched out of the door.

Grissom tossed the paper aside and watched her leave through the glass walls.  She had a point:  he had often eaten with the other CSIs.  In the past, he had eaten with her as well.  But ever since she asked him to dinner, he saw every word and action from her as an attempt to further her agenda, and he resisted, even when it was nonsensical.  He was taking it too far, and he knew it, but he wasn't sure where the line should be drawn.  

He hoped it would become clearer to him soon.  His behavior was beginning to unduly influence their working relationship, or what was left of it.  

He sat there for a quite a while, trying to decide what, if anything, he could do to normalize his interactions with Sara – even with himself he avoided using the word 'relationship'.  He sighed at his failure once again to deduce an answer, and closed his eyes.  

He was startled at the sudden thud directly in front of him and opened his eyes to see a white sack, and Sara's quickly receding back as she exited the door.  She had evidently dropped the bag on the table.  He gingerly peeked inside, and pulled out a chicken sandwich and chips from the deli down the street.  In one fell swoop, she had managed to make him feel even worse about himself.

He looked at the sandwich, but felt no hunger anymore.  He wrapped it back up and put it in the refrigerator for later.  Right now, he knew that the only thing that would make him feel better is work.  But he also knew that there was something else he had to do:  find Sara and apologize.

* * * * *

"What are you doing here?  I didn't call you," Hodges said accusingly when Sara walked in.

"Chill out, David," she said calmly.  "I'm not here to rush you.  I just came to watch you work.  You know, the CSIs are supposed to 'constantly strive to improve their understanding of the technical aspects of the laboratory work'."  She reeled it off just like it was written in the handbook.

Hodges was dumbstruck that she had used his given name.  No one at the Crime Lab had ever called him by his first name.  Ever.  And she was tacitly admitting that he had superior trace analysis skills.  He decided to let her stay.

"OK.  Just don't distract me with a lot of inane questions," he warned.

"Would it be distracting if I asked intelligent questions?" she retorted.

He turned his back to her and exhaled sharply in answer, then bent back over the microscope.  Sara watched him look at the victim's shirt a few millimeters at a time.  

"How do you keep track of where you've already looked without marking the sample?" she asked.

He stood up, but didn't turn around.  In a slightly annoyed voice, he answered, "The weave of the cotton fabric forms it own grid pattern.  I follow the lines formed by the threads," he sighed.

"Oh.  Simple, yet elegant," she retorted.

"Quite so," he said, looking back at the fabric.  

Sara knew there was little knowledge she could gain by sitting here, but she wasn't in a talkative mood, so Hodges was the natural choice to hang around with.  

"You weren't kidding, were you?" Grissom asked Sara from the door.

"Oh, hi, boss!" Hodges said with a smile.  "What brings you here?" he asked superciliously.

"I was looking for Sara," Grissom answered dismissively.  "Can I have a word with you, Sara?" he asked much more politely.

"Sure, why not?" she answered, getting up tiredly from the lab stool.

As they walked down the hall, Grissom was shaking his head.  "Things have really gone too far when you feel more comfortable with Hodges than with me."

"He's nicer to me," she said flatly.

"He's nice to you?" Grissom asked incredulously.

"No," she answered simply.

"Oh."  After a moment spent regrouping his thoughts, Grissom continued, "Well, I wanted to thank you for the sandwich.  I'm really not very hungry right now, but I'll save it for later."

"Whatever you want," she said, following him into his office.

"What made you decide to bring me lunch?" he asked, sitting down behind his desk.

"I went to the deli for my lunch.  You said you hadn't eaten, so I brought you a sandwich.  I would have done the same thing for anyone else," she said with an undercurrent of indignation in her voice.

"Would you please have a seat?" he asked.

"I'd rather stand," she said stiffly.

"I'd feel more comfortable if you would sit down," he said calmly.

"Well, since it's all about what _you're_ comfortable with ..." she mumbled, pulling the chair out a few feet from the front of the desk before sitting in it woodenly.

"Sara, this needs to stop.  It's getting way out of hand," he said beseechingly.

"Hey, I'm the one who offered to buy you lunch.  I was very clear that it was strictly platonic.  You're the one who was a prick about the whole thing."

Grissom exhaled heavily.  "Sara, I don't think name-calling is going to improve the situation."

"I don't know – it makes _me_ feel a whole lot better," she smirked.

"Look.  I just don't know where to draw the line with you.  I thought maybe we could discuss it rationally.  That way, we'd both know what is acceptable," he said unemotionally.

"Grissom, there's a big difference between being decent to someone and flirting.  You seem to think that anything this side of emotional abuse is a come-on.  If you just treated me half as well as you do anyone else on the team, it would be a welcome relief.  And it would still be a long way from 'the line'," she said, drawing quotation marks in the air with her fingers.

"I apologize," he nodded.  "You may not believe this, but I'm doing this to try to be fair to you.  I don't want you to misconstrue anything I say or do, thinking that I'm leading you on."

"Don't worry about that, Grissom.  You have made your lack of interest abundantly clear.  I promise not to misconstrue common courtesy as being any more significant than it is.  You don't have to avoid me, and you don't have to be rude to me to hammer home your point.  I get it. ... I give up," she said with finality, holding both hands aloft in surrender.

His elbows were on the desk, with his arms perpendicular, hands together as if in prayer.  Grissom leaned into his hands, resting his chin on his thumbs, the sides of his index fingers against his lips.  Hearing her concede defeat should have freed him, but he couldn't seem to enjoy it.  

As long as she was pursuing him, even though he was resisting her, it was an involvement – not realized, but at least potential.  Now that she gave up, it was over.  Just like that.  Another in a long line of failures.

It didn't make it any easier to know that this was what he said he wanted, and what he had forced on her.  Sara's persistence all these years was disconcerting on the one hand, but strangely comforting on the other.  It was something he had grown accustomed to, and he already felt its loss keenly.

He opened his hands and slid them up over his eyes, rubbing his forehead with his fingertips.  He kept his eyes hidden behind his hands, not wanting her to see the disappointment that he felt.

The silence hung like a thick blanket between them.  Grissom knew she had said all she was going to say on the subject, and was waiting on him.  But the only words that would come to mind were betrayals of his cause, pleadings for her to give him just a little more time to work it all out in his mind.

The insistent beeping of Sara's pager shattered the silence.  "Jacqui," Sara said succinctly.  "Are we done here?" she asked.

Grissom nodded slowly.  Apparently they were done – in every sense of the word.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**Title:               **Sympathy for the Devil

**Author:           **Burked

**Disclaimers:   **CSI is a registered trademark of CBS, Inc.  

"I guess turnabout _is_ fair play," Jacqui said when Sara breached the door.

"That's what they say," Sara agreed.

"Your so-called victim was recently a long-term guest at the Nevada state correctional facility."

"Yeah?  Tell me about him," Sara said, taking a seat next to Jacqui.

"His name is Francis Dellancourt.  He just completed his second stint for child molestation.  Ten years this time.  I'm printing out his vitals for you now."

"Couldn't happen to a nicer guy," Sara said derisively.

"I know we're supposed to remain objective," Jacqui said, lowering her voice to not be overheard, "but I have a hard time getting real worked up when the victim is a shit-bag like this."

"I hear you," Sara nodded.  She rolled her head on her shoulders to try to work out the kinks, and looked at her watch.  "Geez!  How time flies when you're having fun, and I can assure you tonight has been a real blast," she said facetiously.  "It's time for us to blow this popsicle stand." 

"I've just got to log off, then I'm right behind you, sister.  Don't slow down unless you want footprints on your back."

* * * * *

She was happy to see that she would be able to maintain her self-imposed schedule.  Richard Hernandez still lived at the address given on the printout.  She would not have to choose another, or waste valuable time tracking him down.  

This was her third day of observing him.  By day, he was a dishwasher at one of the sleazier dives that catered to the local white trash contingent.  God, how she hated white trash.  It was all she could do to remember that it was Hernandez that was to be next.  She could almost be tempted to choose any one of the patrons in his stead.

He spent the three evenings at home.  She assumed by the beer-bottle-filled trash he took out every morning that he drank himself into a stupor every night on cheap beer.  'Good,' she thought to herself.  She wouldn't have to drug this one;  he would do it for her.

She stood in the dark next to the open window at the rear of the apartment.  None of these apartments appeared to be air-conditioned, but several, like this one, had fans in the windows.  She could hear the television choppily through the hum of the fan blades.  She heard the high-pitched moans and screams from his rented video, and felt vindicated.  People like him never change.

* * * * *

"Okay, what have you got so far?" Grissom asked the two distaff CSIs during assignments on Friday.  Frank Dellancourt had been murdered on Sunday, and they were no closer to his killer now than they were then.

"It's a good thing that Edmund Locard didn't see this body, or we wouldn't have the Locard Exchange Principle.  There is absolutely no trace evidence of any kind.  Hodges microscopically looked at every square centimeter of the clothes, including his underclothes.  Not so much as a speck of dust.  It's like the guy was dry-cleaned," Sara said, shaking her head in frustrated disbelief.

"We didn't get anywhere with the canvassing.  Dellancourt was a regular at many of the clubs and bars in the area, but no-one remembers seeing him with any specific person on Saturday night," Catherine reported.

"All the epithelials on the clothes and tape match the victim.  All the blood is the victim's.  No fingerprints on the tape," Sara rattled off.

"Did you check the sticky side?" Nick asked automatically, almost immediately regretting it.

"Well, duh, Nicky," Sara barked back.  "Yes, I used a carbon black wash, ninhydrin, gentian violet, and an iodine wash.  And then I fumed it.  If you can think of anything else, Einstein, enlighten me," she snapped.

Nick considered his options and decided that surrender held the best chance for his continued survival.  "Sounds like you did everything that could be done, as usual," he added, hoping he had backtracked sufficiently.

"Sorry, Nick," Sara apologized.  "It's just really frustrating to get absolutely zero physical evidence from such an otherwise messy crime," she said, a faint smile pulling at her lips.  He was her best friend and she had snapped at him in front of the entire team.

"Hey, if anyone can find it, you can," he said, smiling broadly.

Grissom watched the interaction between Nick and Sara, and Catherine watched Grissom.  He was completely mystified.  He knew they were friends;  he used to be jealous of their easy camaraderie, until Catherine pointed out one day that she and he were friends, too.

Tonight Nick and Sara had taken potshots at each other in public, which surprised Grissom.  But what intrigued him more was the way they so quickly rectified the breach with genuine apologies, also given in public.

Sara smiled a gap-toothed grin at Nick, letting him know that everything was still good between them.  Nick added a brief wink to his smile, acknowledging her message.

Catherine had hoped that the exchange between Nick and Sara would be illustrative to Grissom, but she could see by the clouded confusion in his eyes that the lesson was probably lost on him.  Even if she explained it to him, she doubted that he could relate it to himself.

Warrick came in late, cursing a flat tire on his car.  "What are we talking about?" he asked, taking his seat.

"Our very own Lorena Bobbitt," Catherine answered.

As expected, the men in the room save Grissom winced and inhaled sharply between clenched teeth.  Grissom reacted with a raised eyebrow and a sudden facial tic.  Catherine and Sara were getting accustomed to the ubiquitous male reaction, and were able to remain impassive.  They both noticed Grissom's muted reaction and were inwardly amused that even the normally asexual supervisor could not help but react to the thought of castration, though his response was less pronounced than the younger men's.

"You know, the castration is cold-blooded enough, without ... the rest," Warrick said, finding it impossible to utter the words for what the perpetrator had done with the severed genitalia.

"I think the perpetrator is making a stronger statement than is typical of castrations.  He or she, and I'm assuming it's a she," Catherine said, looking apologetically at Sara, "knows that males have an inherent castration anxiety.  The placement of the detached genitals is intended to add degradation on top of the fulfillment of the phobia."

"I agree," Sara nodded.  "This woman isn't just angry, she's disgusted, and she's transferring her feelings of degradation onto the victim.  If I had to guess, I'd bet she had been sexually abused at some point.  The victim had a prison record for child molestation," Sara added, looking over a Catherine to let her know she agreed that the perp was probably a female.

"Don't get ahead of yourselves," Grissom warned.  "Males are victims of sexual abuse as well."  Catherine surreptitiously shot a look at Nick out of the corner of her eye.  He was sitting stiffly, his jaw set firmly as though he were clenching his teeth.  Though he was abused by a female instead of a male, Catherine didn't doubt that the retribution against the predator in this case fed into his unconscious desires for his own justice.

"You're right, of course," Sara admitted.  "This could be a man who had been abused by a predator in the past.  It would actually clarify a few problem points, like how a female perp would be able to move the body."

"For now, just keep an open mind," Grissom advised.

* * * * *

Passing Sara in the hall, Grissom looked up from the file and called her name.  She turned around and waited for his question.

"Did you bring your lunch today?" he asked.

"Yes," she said.

"I still have the sandwich you so graciously bought me.  You want to take a break and eat?" he asked, attempting to sound casual.

"Together?" she asked.

"Well, yeah," he shrugged.

"In the same room?"  

"Yeah," Grissom answered innocently.

Sara regarded him with a mixture of confusion and suspicion.  "Okay.  I'll meet you in the break room in a couple of minutes."

Grissom nodded and continued down the hall, leaving Sara to wonder just how many individual personalities lived in Grissom's expansive brain.  Multiple personality disorder was the only explanation she could fathom for how his treatment of her would turn around one-hundred-eighty degrees from one day to the next.  She hoped that Dr. Jekyll would stay through lunch; she had had enough of Mr. Hyde to last a while.

* * * * *

The first few minutes were awkward, as they unpacked their lunches in silence, neither sure what was 'safe' conversation to make.  Grissom decided to fall back onto a topic he was fairly confident with:  work.

"So how is it working with Catherine on this case?" Grissom asked, taking a bite of the cold sandwich.

"It's good," Sara nodded.  "She's got a different perspective – she's much more intuitive.  I'm more methodical.  Between the two of us, we usually have the bases covered."

"How are you getting along now?"

"You mean personality-wise?  Fine.  We've gotten past her disappointment in my inability to solve Eddie's murder," Sara answered.

"It's impossible to beat a 'he-did-it/she-did-it' defense when there's no physical evidence implicating one over the other," Grissom granted.

"I think Catherine accepted that after a while," Sara nodded, wishing they could move off the subject.  "You know, you should quit hording Catherine and let the rest of us team with her every few cases.  She's a good balance to our more scientific approaches."

"That's one the reasons I work with her as well," he laughed.  

"Well, you're just going to have to learn to share."  

"I don't like to share," he said simply, leaving it to Sara to discern whether he was serious or teasing.

Rather than stumble on a possible verbal landmine, Sara decided to sidestep it.  "You know, I've only worked alone with Catherine a few times, but when we work together we have a one-hundred-percent solve rate."  

"I hadn't really thought about it, but I guess you're right."

"I know I'm right.  I have a 91% solve rate with Nick, a 93% solve rate with Warrick, a 99% solve rate with you, and a 100% solve rate with Catherine," she ticked off.

"What case have we worked on together that we didn't solve?" he asked, unable to recall one.

"The Millander case.  You solved it with Catherine after he committed another murder.  But we didn't actually solve the case we were working on before that.  You still get the credit;  I don't," she explained to him.

"Your statistical methods are very exacting – much more than the departmental methods.  I think you still got credit for the solve, since you were part of the team that worked it, even if not at the point where it was finally resolved."

"They have their standards, I have mine," she answered simply.

Sara finished the last bites of her cucumber sandwich and bowl of mixed fruit.  While she would not necessarily have chosen this topic, she had to admit that they had managed to discuss it without it degenerating into an argument.  If this was to be a foundation for a better working relationship, Sara felt it was necessary to ensure that it was a success, so she was anxious to leave while the experience was still positive.

"Well, I've got paperwork to catch up on, so I better get to it," she said, giving Grissom a friendly but measured smile.  

When she left, Grissom let out a sigh of relief.  He had managed to make it through the entire meal without making Sara angry or hurt.  

* * * * *

It was rare that the receptionist paged Grissom to answer a call, so he typically stopped what he was doing to take them, knowing she would normally take a message unless it were urgent.

He picked up the phone and pressed line three to connect.  

"Dr. Grissom?  I'm calling in regards to the Dellancourt castration," said the female voice.  Grissom instantly scrambled for a pad and a pen.  The castration aspect of the murder had not been released to the press, so he knew that the caller likely had information that was genuine.

"And your name is?" he asked hopefully.

"Unimportant," she replied.

"An unusual name," he teased.

"Glad to see you have a sense of humor," she said lightly.  "I'm going to do you a favor, because that's just the kind of gal I am.  I'm going to give you an hour to talk to your team and formulate some questions.  You may want to arrange to have our follow-up conversation on speakerphone so that they can all hear.  Or you may want to tape it.  It's only fair to give you an opportunity to prepare," she said calmly.

"I take it that you have information that you feel could be helpful regarding the investigation," he said.

"Yes.  And I take it that, unless I've made an uncharacteristic mistake, you have precious little information regarding the investigation," she retorted.  "Just to jump-start you, I'll give you a little hint.  Check out similar incidents on VICAP, concentrating on Chicago and Boston.  Do you think you'll need more than an hour to get ready?" she asked.

"No, I think we can pull it together by then," he said more confidently than he felt at the moment.

"Okay, I'll call back at 5:00 a.m.  Should I call the same number?  Or should I use a direct line?"  

"The same number will work fine.  The receptionist will route it to us, wherever we happen to be."

"Very well.  Talk to you later," she said brightly, disconnecting.

Grissom dialed the receptionist's number.  "Rose, please put out a page to my entire staff, including techs, to meet me in the conference room immediately.  And, Rose, I am expecting another call from the same woman who just called.  She said she would call in an hour.  Whenever she does, transfer it to the conference room."

"Yes, sir, Dr. Grissom," disconnecting to begin her pages.

* * * * *

Grissom raised his hand to quell the cacophony in the conference room.  He wasn't one for having many staff meetings, and no one could remember the last time they were all together in one room.  Many of them expected bad news, such as layoffs or budget cutbacks.  

"We don't have much time," he said loudly.  In less than half an hour I am expecting a call from a woman who is either the perpetrator or knows the perpetrator of the castration murder last weekend."  The room swelled with murmuring, and Grissom held up another hand.

"She will call back at 5:00, and she suggested that we do some background research on VICAP, which I have here," he said, holding up two printouts.  "She will allow us to ask questions, though there is no guarantee she will answer them.  I asked her name and she declined to say."

"How did she sound?" Catherine asked.  "Coherent?  Psychotic?  Could you get any read on her at all?"

"The conversation wasn't very long, but she seemed coherent and lucid.  She has consented to having the next conversation on speakerphone and taping it.  We can present it to Dr. Kane for his analysis," Grissom answered.

"She must want to get caught," Warrick said.

"I don't think so," Grissom answered.  "At least not consciously.  She was very careful about the crime scene, leaving next to no evidence.  I think this is more of a case of the murderer wanting to be heard, understood or validated in some way."

"If that's the case," Catherine jumped in, "maybe we should ask about her motive.  She may be willing to give more details there."

"Good point," Grissom said.

"This is related to the motive, so it may be answered with that one, but I'd like to know if she had something specifically against Francis Dellancourt, or will there be more victims," Sara said.

"Okay," Grissom said, writing the question down.

"How many questions do we get?" Catherine asked.

"She didn't say.  She'll probably play it by ear.  We want to be careful to not spook her, though.  We may be able to keep the communications open if she feels like she's getting her needs met," Grissom answered.  

"What does VICAP have to say?" Sara asked.

"There were six murders with the same MO in Boston last year, one per month from July to December.  They suddenly ended, so they presumed that the perpetrator fled or was apprehended on an unrelated charge.  They recovered no physical evidence at any of the crime scenes.  They were in communication with the perpetrator, for a few months, but she apparently became frustrated with them and stopped contacting them."

"Frustrated in what sense?" Catherine asked.

"Apparently, she felt they weren't 'worthy opponents,' to use her words," Grissom answered.

"Oh, a Dr. Moriarity complex," Sara noted.  "She's looking for her Holmes."

"The year before that, in Chicago, there was a murder every two months fitting the MO.  There was less communication, and it didn't start until the sixth murder.  She apparently became disenchanted with them as well."

"So all we have to do is fail, and she will move on," Greg cracked.

"Yes, Greg, after killing a minimum of six people," Sara answered tersely.

"Her schedule shortened between Chicago and Boston, so we can't be sure what it is here.  That's a question we should ask," Grissom said, jotting it down.

"What were the victim profiles in the other cities?" Catherine asked.

"All pedophiles.  Some were fathers or stepfathers who sexually abused their children.  Others were predatory pedophiles.  It didn't seem to matter if the pedophiles' victims were male or female."

"Where all the woman's victims treated the same way ours was?" Warrick asked, his face pinched in sympathetic pain.

"Yes.  All murdered and castrated," Grissom acknowledged. "She is completely flexible in her MO.  Some were drugged, others apparently attacked in their sleep, others that we presume were abducted by force."

"I want you all in here when I talk to her, but it's imperative that you let me do the talking.  I don't want a barrage of ten people barking out questions.  Pay close attention to everything she says.  Each of you may pick up something different.  We will discuss the call later.  Take a few minutes and wrap up whatever you were doing, get a drink, go to the bathroom or do whatever you need to do in order to be able to focus.  Be back here at 4:55," he said, dismissing them.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER 3**

The call came in at precisely 5:00 a.m.  Grissom was not surprised that she was punctual, and made a note of it.

"Dr. Grissom, are you ready?" she asked.

"Yes.  Could you give me some sort of appelation for you, even if not your real name?" he requested.

"You can call me 'Lilith,' if you wish, or you can devise your own name for me," she answered.

"Lilith, as in the Queen of the Succubi?" Grissom asked.  Heads turned around the room mouthing 'succubi,' asking for a definition.  Sara wrote "female demons" on her pad and showed it 360 degrees around the room.

"You have already proven yourself to be better-read than my previous adversaries," Lilith offered admiringly.

"May I ask how many questions we may ask?" Grissom queried politely.

"Depends on the questions," she answered evenly.

"I see that you committed six murders in Chicago, spaced every two months ..." Grissom began.

"I prefer to think of them as executions," she interrupted.

"Fair enough," Grissom agreed.  "Then in Boston they were every month for six months.  May I ask what your schedule will be in Las Vegas?"

"I'm shooting for once a week," she said hopefully, "though that could prove to be overly ambitious."

"Should we assume you have six names in mind?" he asked.

"You should assume nothing," she answered.

"How are you choosing the men to be executed?  I see that they have all been convicted of sexual crimes against children."

"I am choosing them randomly from a website listing sexual offenders," she replied.

"Could you explain why you are executing them?"

"Because they deserve it," she stated simply.

"So you view yourself as an avenging angel?" he asked.

"No.  Not at all.  The recidivism rate for pedophiles is practically one-hundred percent.  These people just don't change.  They destroy innocent lives, and even when they are caught, they eventually are released to destroy others.  I used to believe that they should be castrated the first offense, but studies have shown that they still molest children, even without the use of their genitals.  It's psychological more than sexual.  They need to removed from society permanently." she answered.

"Yes, but why you, specifically?" Grissom pressed.

"Because I'm willing to do the job," she answered.  "I have nothing to lose and no greater agenda," she explained.  "By the way, how are you coming in your investigation?" she asked.

"You didn't leave us much to work with," Grissom answered honestly.

"That's good to hear," she laughed.  "Glad I'm not loosing my touch."

"I'm a little confused by the paradox.  You carefully manage the crime scene to deny us evidence, yet contact us offering assistance."

"I want to be fair, but the poor miscreants are too stupid to protect themselves, even if I warn them.  I've tried that.  But I'm not going to purposefully allow you to capture me, if that's what you are hoping for."

"Are you seeking publicity for the plight of the victims of pedophilia?" Grissom asked.

"No.  Publicity will accomplish little.  More lives are saved by killing the scum that prey on kids.  Will Ms. Sidle and Ms. Willows be attending to the next corpse as well?" she asked.  A low buzzing murmur began to spread in the room, until Grissom held up a silencing hand.

"How do you know anything about our staff, especially who's assigned to the case?" Grissom asked.

"Six months of research, Dr. Grissom.  I am familiar with the graveyard shifts of both the detectives and the forensic scientists.  I know who was assigned to the case because I saw them at the scene."

"I have to admit, Lilith, that's unsettling to me," he said, feeling a rising sense of unease.

"They are in no danger, I can assure you," she said quickly, to dispel their fears.  "I'm not some random lunatic murderer who will kill anyone who gets in her way.  If they get in my way, I'll go around them.  If they catch me, they catch me."

"I'm relieved to hear that," Grissom said honestly.

"I've never been pitted against a team containing women before.  It should be interesting," she said.  "Well, I've got to go.  I've still got some preparations to make before the next execution on Sunday."

"Will we be speaking again?" Grissom asked hopefully.

"I will contact you if I feel the need, or rather, if I feel you need it.  By now, you should have my cell phone number.  As long as you don't pester me to death, you can call from time to time, when you get stuck," she offered.  "The phone is disposable, of course.  If you abuse the privilege, I'll just toss it and get another."

"Happy hunting, Sara, Catherine," she said, laughing good-naturedly.  The line went dead, but the room was still held in silence.

"That was _very_ strange," Warrick offered.

"Archie, I want you to dub copies of the tape for everyone in this room, as well as Captain Brass and Dr. Kane.  I want you all to listen to it again, as many times as necessary.  Make notes on your impressions.  Archie, tear it apart.  Find anything we can use.  I also want you to analyze the voice.  I want to make sure this isn't a hoax."

Grissom stood and looked around the room.  "I'd like Catherine and Sara to stay.  The rest of you can get back to your workstations."

The noise level in the room quickly rose and began to pour out of the door, leaving Grissom and the two women in silence.

"Do you want me to leave you on the case, or replace you?" he asked.

"Why?" Catherine asked, knowing his answer.

"I don't like that she saw the two of you, and knows your names," he answered.

"She will see whoever investigates the next one, and she'll know their names as well," Sara retorted.  

"You are probably right, but I want to give you the option," Grissom shrugged.

"You take us off this case and you will have two very pissed off women," Catherine answered, looking to Sara for confirmation and getting it.

"You can stay on the case, but I want to assign one of the men to work with you," Grissom said authoritatively, to attempt to divert any opposition.

"Oh?  And what big, strong man are you going to assign to protect us weak, little women?" Catherine hissed.

"Okay, Catherine, I'm a sexist.  You can tell because I have a greater percentage of women on my staff than any other forensic department in America," he shot back.

"You have to admit that you are being a little paternalistic," Sara said calmly, trying to keep the discussion from escalating into a full-scale shouting match between the two friends.

"If I offer to let you choose who to work with, will you accept it without any more complaints?" he offered in compromise.

The two women stepped to the back of the room and whispered animatedly to one another.  After a moment, they walked up to their supervisor.  Catherine, not surprisingly, spoke for the duo.  "We choose you," she said simply.

"May I ask why?" Grissom asked.

"You have already established a rapport with Lilith, for one," Catherine said.

"And we like your solve rate better," Sara chipped in.

"Two logical reasons," he agreed.  "Not exactly what I had in mind, but I'll keep my end of the bargain," he said.

"But I'm still primary," Catherine added in warning.

* * * * *

Grissom, Sara and Catherine met in his office at shortly before midnight Saturday.  In minutes, it would be Sunday.  They waited impatiently, occasionally getting up to get more coffee.  

By 1:30, they were already getting stir-crazy.  All three jumped when Grissom's phone rang.  

"Grissom," he answered.

"Hey, it's Brass.  I'm at the house of one Richard Hernandez.  He seems to be missing something, but I bet I know where we can find it."

"How did you find him so quickly?" Grissom asked.

"She called me and told me who and where," he answered.  "Nothing like getting the inside scoop."

* * * * * 

"You two start processing the victim.  I will poke around the rest of the house," Catherine directed, to the amusement of Detective Captain Brass.

Grissom and Sara wordlessly complied, moving carefully down the hall into the bedroom, scanning for evidence along the way.

"You the boss now?" Brass quipped.

"Only in this investigation," she replied, running her flashlight along the tattered furniture of the living area.

"Haven't seen them work together in a while.  Think they still have the geek mind-meld thing going?"

"Let's hope so.  We'll need every advantage we can get," Catherine snorted.

Brass moved over to the TV.  Donning latex gloves, he picked up a video rental box.  "Hmm.  'Babes in Joyland'.  How did I miss this classic?" he mused.  He popped the video in the VCR, turned on the TV and pressed the play button.  He and Catherine only had to watch a few seconds of it to know that they didn't want to see any more.  

"How can they rent out this crap?  Kiddie porn is illegal!" Catherine shouted.  

"I'll let Vice know, but you know how much good that will do.  Supply and demand, Cath," Brass breathed out heavily.

On the end table next to the chair parked in front of the TV was an overflowing ashtray, a plethora of empty beer bottles and a handtowel.

"Wanna bet what the ALS will show on that towel?" Brass said disgustedly.

"Looks like about the only thing this guy did that wasn't illegal," Catherine observed, noting the small leavings of marijuana in the ashtray.

"It's a good damned thing it's not illegal," Sara quipped as she stepped further into the room.

"Yeah, if it was, most of us wouldn't have any sex life at all," Catherine muttered.  

"Oh, you ladies are breaking my heart," Brass threw in.  "It's been so long, I don't even know if I'd remember what to do."

"It's like riding a bike, Brass.  It will come back to you, no pun intended.  Assuming you ever get the opportunity again," Catherine rejoined.  

David Phillips dragged the gurney over the doorjamb and looked questioningly at the trio in the living room.  "Where to?" he asked.  

"Bedroom.  Down the hall," Sara pointed.  David struggled getting the gurney turned around in the sharp turn into the narrow hall.  Grissom squeezed past him, wondering once he got to the living room if it wouldn't be better to turn back around.

"How 'bout you, sister?  How long's it been?" Brass confronted the blonde.

"Hmm, let's see," she thought, counting back on her fingers.  "I think it was a little more than a year ago.  Yeah, that's about right," she nodded.  

She and Brass turned expectantly to Sara, both sets of eyebrows raised, waiting for her true confessions.

"Me?  That's easy.  It's been two years, ten months, 1 week, and ... uh ... 2 days," she said.

"That's sad.  No one should know _to the day _how long since they had sex when it's been that long," Brass said, shaking his head.

"Well, it's not that hard to remember.  It was a week before I came here," she confided. 

The three fell into easy laughter, then Brass looked up into the aghast face of Gil Grissom.

"How about you, Gil?  Do you remember when the last time was you had carnal knowledge?"

"It's been a while," he answered non-commitally.

"Six months is hardly a world record in our little group," Sara said more good-naturedly than she felt.

Grissom blushed, telling them he was going to help David, but just then the gurney came banging through the doorway from the hall.

"Okay, David.  You're the last hope we have," Sara said brightly.  "How long has it been since you had sex with another _living_ human being, other than yourself?"  

The room fell silent waiting for his reply, but they didn't have to wait long.  "Two weeks," he answered shyly, pushing the gurney out through the front door.

The four stared at each other in amazement.  They were shocked that he would answer the question at all, and even more shocked at what the answer was.

"That is ... so ... very ... wrong," Sara muttered, shaking her head.

"I'm going to go home and kill myself," Catherine said glumly, bagging and tagging the towel.

"Think he'd go out with me?" Sara teased.  "He seems to be the only one getting any action around here."

"I don't know.  You've been ignoring his crush on you for years," Catherine mused, casting a side-long glance at Grissom.

"Then it's high time he was rewarded for his persistence, don't you think?" she asked Catherine, chuckling.

"If only it worked that way," Catherine answered meaningfully.

"I hate to interrupt this enlightening discussion with something trivial like work, but has anyone found anything resembling evidence?" Grissom asked pointedly.

"Only evidence that Richard Hernandez was a scum-bag and a blight on the earth," Catherine answered.  "What about you?"

"Nothing.  We'll send everything to Trace, but there wasn't so much as a stray hair, as we probably should have expected," he answered heavily.

"How'd she get in?" Sara asked.

"Back window had a fan in it.  She pushed the fan out.  It's nice and dark out back," Brass answered.

"I'll dust for prints and check for shoeprints," Sara said quickly, hoping that Lilith wasn't as good a break-in artist as she was a murderer.

Sara went out the front door, circling around to the rear of the building.  

"Grissom, it's dark and isolated out there.  You better go with her," Catherine suggested.

He nodded his agreement and followed Sara's path.  When he caught up to her at the back window, he busied himself quietly scanning the ground while she concentrated on dusting the window frame.

"I'm sorry if I embarrassed you in there with the six-months remark," Sara said, without turning around.  

"It's not something I like to be reminded of," he exhaled.  It was the second time tonight she had been stunned by someone's blunt honesty.

"How long had it been before that?" she hazarded.

"Too long, evidently," he answered.  "But I couldn't tell you to the day," he quipped.

"Well, when the last time was that long ago and you were only 29 at the time, it's memorable," she said in her defense.

"You and Hank dated for a year and three months.  In all that time, you never ..."

"God!  Was it that long?  Of course, we didn't go out very often.  We probably only went out fewer than two dozen times in those fifteen months," she said, more to herself than to Grissom.  She had finished dusting around the frame and was examining it inch-by-inch with her flashlight, searching for non-existent fingerprints.  "But, to answer your question, no, we never did.  It wasn't that kind of relationship, Grissom.  I told you that," she answered.

"You had been seeing him ten months before I ever even heard about it.  And things can change," he said unemotionally, giving up on finding any footprints or other evidence on the concrete surface.

"Some things never change," she answered back.  

**TBC – Maybe ... if I start getting some reviews.    **


	4. Chapter 4

**Title:               **Sympathy for the Devil

**Author:            **Burked

**Disclaimers:            **CSI is a registered trademark of CBS, Inc.  

**A/N:**                Thanks for the reviews!

"Is this some kind of trick?" Hodges confronted Sara.  "You keep bringing me evidence that is pristine.  Are you trying to make me look incompetent?" he accused her.

"David," she answered heavily, "I'm bringing it to you because I've already gone over it and found nada.  I keep hoping that you will be able to prove me wrong.  I wouldn't bother if I thought you were incompetent."

"I didn't say you thought I was incompetent," he spat out.  "I asked if you were trying to make me _look_ incompetent."

"You don't look any more incompetent than the rest of us do.  She's good, really good.  But just think how impressed everyone would be if you _could_ find anything," she said, hoping to mollify him for the next piece of evidence she would bring in, most likely one week from today.

* * * * *

"What have you got for me?" Grissom asked Archie.

"Not much.  As she told us, the number belongs to a disposable cellular – the kind you can buy at the kiosks in the mall.  You can buy prepaid minutes anywhere, so it can't be tracked.  They're a criminal's wet dream.  The background noise is traffic, so she was apparently driving while she was talking.  Even if we had the equipment to triangulate to find the source of the signal, which we don't, it would be impossible with her being on the move."

"Can you tell where she was driving?" Grissom asked.

"Down the Strip, if I had to guess," Archie answered.

"Along with thousands of other people," Grissom noted.

"Yep," Archie agreed.

* * * * *

"She's not giving us much to work with," Catherine sighed over her turkey club sandwich.

Sara nodded and speared some of her salad with more fervor than it deserved, her frustration starting to mount.

Grissom seemed lost in thought, his chicken salad sandwich sitting untouched in front of him.  

"What are you thinking?" Sara asked.

"I'm thinking that there must be a way to figure this out.  She knows she's not leaving physical evidence.  She's planned the execution and the clean-up meticulously.  Yet she believes that it's possible to catch her.  So there must be a way," he said, drifting back into his thoughts.

Maternally, Catherine picked up one of the triangles of sandwich off of his plate and shoved it into his hand.  "Eat," she commanded.

He dutifully took a bite, distractedly, slowly mulling it around in his mouth, unhurried.  "I have an idea," he said, putting down the rest of the sandwich.  "It will take time, but it may give us a chance to identify her."

"Spill it!" Catherine exclaimed excitedly.

"She said she's been here six months.  Archie said she was driving, so presumably she has a driver's license.  How many people who have moved here in the last six months came from Boston?  And how many of them lived the prior year in Chicago?"  

Turning to Sara with renewed enthusiasm, Grissom asked, "Sara, if we get driver's license data from Chicago and Boston for the period she was at each city, can you correlate it to the people who have gotten a license here in the past six months?"

"Oh, yeah.  That's simple database manipulation.  I'll just import them in and let it spit out the matches."

"Even if we find her, what then?  We still don't have any evidence tying her to the murders," Catherine challenged him.

"Maybe there's evidence at her house.  She had to have gotten blood spatter on her during the castrations.  There may be some in her car, or she may have it on her shoes or traces on some clothes."

"As exacting as she's been on clean-up, what makes you think she'll keep any of that stuff?"

"It's worth a try," Sara agreed with Grissom.  "She may think we'll never get that far.  Or she may not know about the persistence of blood evidence, even when it can't be seen."

"Let's get to it then," Catherine said, pushing back her unfinished meal.  They stood and Grissom tossed down enough money to cover the meals and the tip so that they wouldn't have to wait one more minute.

* * * * *

Lilith looked at her list and allowed her eyes to trail over the names.  To be fair, she decided to concentrate on African-American men this week.  The first to die was Caucasian;  the second Hispanic.  She was nothing if not an equal-opportunity executioner.  

She found one who struck her fancy, Robert Harris, Jr.  He had molested his six-year-old stepdaughter.  

Lilith's only regret is that she couldn't tell who was an pedophile _before_ they ruined a life.  Retribution wasn't as effective as prevention would be, but it was all she had.

"Well, Junior, Sunday's your big day," she said, looking up his address on the online map.  She would begin observing Robert Harris, Jr. tonight.

* * * * *

The radio was playing some ambient urban contemporary jazz in the background at Sara's workstation.  The volume was low enough that it could barely be heard at her chair.  It was only on to dispel the stress of soundlessness in the room.  

Other than a lamp on the desk, no light was on in the room.  For some reason, turning on the overhead light made the emptiness of the room all the more real to Sara, feeding a seed of loneliness that strove to germinate in her heart.  The darkness seemed to wrap itself around her, cocooning her, and hid from her the fact that she was alone.

She heard quiet footsteps and felt someone enter the room as she was peering down a microscope, only surfacing to make notes in her laboratory notebook.

"What are you working on?" Grissom asked, peeking over her shoulder.  

Sara sighed heavily and swiveled her bench stool around, her shoulder lightly knocking into Grissom's chest.  He took a defensive step back.

"That would qualify as 'over the line,' Grissom," she said seriously.

"What are you talking about?" he asked, not making the connection.

"You're so concerned about where to draw the line, that it's a major ordeal to decide whether to eat together in the breakroom sitting six feet apart.  But then you come in here and invade my personal space, hanging over my shoulder.  That's over the line," she explained.

"I'm sorry," Grissom said, a touch defensively.  "If it bothers you, then you should have said something about it before."

"It didn't bother me before," she retorted.

"But it bothers you now?" he inquired.

"Under the circumstances, yes.  It's cruel to tease when you have no intention of following through."

"I didn't intend to tease," he contended.  "I apologize."

Sara turned back around to her scope.  "I'm working on the trace from the Hawkins assault and battery case.  Came in two days ago," she reminded him.  The castration murders might be foremost in their consciousness, but it was hardly the only crime they were investigating.

"I thought you were working on the database thing," he said stiffly, still stinging from her rebuff.

"I've requested that they push the files out to an FTP site.  They'll call me when it's done and I'll go out and snag them.  Until then, I've got other pending cases," she explained.

"Oh.  Okay," Grissom said uncomfortably, wanting to leave but not knowing how to exit gracefully.  Sara continued to pass back and forth between the microscope and her notes, all but ignoring him.  After a moment, he turned and left without a word.  

He wished he could have thought of something to say that would somehow restore his dignity, or at the very least piss her off.  But for some reason he was preverbal, experiencing only feelings that he couldn't express.

* * * * *

"May I please speak to Sara Sidle?" she asked the receptionist.

"May I tell her who's calling?" Rose countered.

"Yes," Lilith said, a bit sarcastically.

Rose sighed.  "Who's calling please?" she rephrased, her annoyance bleeding through her words.

"Lilith," the caller replied.

"Just a moment.  I'll connect you," Rose said, quickly putting the call on hold and paging Sara over the intercom.

"Sidle," Sara answered into the telephone.  

"Ms. Sidle, this is Lilith.  Do you mind if I call you 'Sara'?" she requested.

"Yes, I do mind.  I don't know you.  I prefer that only my friends call me by my first name," Sara said.

"Plucky.  I like that.  Under other circumstances, maybe we could have been friends," Lilith postulated.

"You never know," Sara answered.  "Why are you calling me?"

"Just checking in to see how you are doing," Lilith answered.

"Doing fine, thanks.  We're still processing the evidence from the last murder," Sara answered.

"Execution," Lilith corrected.

"Whatever," Sara countered.

"That couldn't take too long.  There shouldn't be that much evidence there," Lilith claimed.

"Well, it was a less controlled crime scene than the last one.  We've got to go through everything, whether you left it there or someone else.  We don't have any way to know yet," Sara explained.

"Of course.  I apologize for that, but he didn't get out much.  I had to take him where I found him," Lilith told her.

"May I ask a question about the first mur ... uh, execution?" Sara queried.

"Shoot," Lilith said brightly.

"How did you move the body?  He's bound to have been bigger and heavier than you are."

"Leverage," Lilith answered.  "The same way you move a refrigerator or a washing machine."

"You used a dolly?"

"If you are referring to a hand-truck, yes," she answered.

"Where's the primary crime scene?" Sara asked, pressing her luck.

"I'd prefer not to say," Lilith evaded.

"Why not?  You told us where to find Hernandez, and he was at the primary scene."

"I had a little accident at the first scene.  It might have left trace evidence.  So I had to move him," she elucidated.

"I thought you didn't make mistakes," Sara laughed.

"It wasn't a mistake, per se.  It was an accident.  A purely random incident, but it could have had consequences.  I like to control consequences," she said firmly.

"Cut yourself with the knife?" Sara tossed out hopefully.

"Nothing that drastic," Lilith laughed.

"Come on, you can tell me," Sara said, joining in her laughter.

"Oh, so we're _friends_ now!" Lilith quipped.

"I'll let you call me 'Sara' if you tell me what happened," Sara offered, chuckling.

"You drive a hard bargain, Sara.  Okay, I'll tell you.  I snagged my arm on an exposed nail.  It only bled a little, but even a drop is too much."

"Hope you are current on your tetanus shots!" Sara snorted.

"I am now," Lilith answered, unthinkingly.

Sara didn't want to pause long enough for Lilith to think.  "What can I offer you to tell me where the primary scene is?  I'll be your best friend," she proffered playfully.

"Would you visit me in prison?" Lilith retorted.

"I promise I'll come to your trial," Sara said laughing.

"Not if I can help it!" Lilith rejoined.  "Well, it's been nice talking to you, Sara, but I've got to run.  Thinks to do, people to see, and all that.  It's a lot of work, doing what I do," she exhaled tiredly.

"I can only imagine," Sara said.  "So, are we on for next Sunday?"

"See you then," Lilith said, hanging up.

* * * * *

Sara literally ran through the halls to Grissom's office, glad he was there.  He looked up at her in shocked surprise as she stood propping her hands on his desk, catching her breath.

"I've _got_ to stop smoking," she mumbled to herself.

"What is it?" Grissom asked, his face gathered in a mixture of curiosity and concern.

"She's fucked up, Grissom!" Sara breathlessly said.

"She who?  What are you talking about?" Grissom said, almost shouting.

"Lilith.  She just called me," Sara said, taking deep breaths to calm down.

"Sit down, tell me.  Were you able to record it?"

"No.  I didn't know it was her before I took it, and I didn't have a recorder anyway.  But I took notes," she said, waving a few sheets of paper torn from her laboratory notebook.  The pages are numbered to ensure that all the data are there.  She was going to have to write an explanation now for the missing pages, but that was a minor irritation.

Sara began recounting the conversation as close to verbatim as possible, making an occasional correction or addition to her notes to help her remember later.  

"That was a dangerous ploy, Sara, being difficult with her," he interrupted.  She had not gotten far past the beginning of the conversation.  "You might have made her angry.  She might not have called back," he chided her.

"Look, she's already established a rapport with you.  When she called me, I wanted her to have to work for the rapport, so that she would trust it.  If I was all gushy sweet, she'd know I was patronizing her.  Why are you bitching?  It worked," she huffed out.

"You were lucky," he said dismissively.

"You know, I'm not some 22-year-old cadet.  Give me some freaking credit.  I reviewed my options and chose the one that I thought had the best chance of getting me what I wanted.  I was right.  Why can't you just admit that and let it go?  Why do you have to treat me like I'm incompetent?" she demanded.  

He had no immediate answer.  He didn't feel like he was doing anything but pointing out the recklessness of her actions.  

"If you don't have any more faith in my abilities than that, then ... then ..." she thought for a moment "... then, I quit," she said finally, tossing the notes at him and turning abruptly to leave.  The pages fluttered, some landing on the desk, some on the floor.

"Sara!" he barked with condescending annoyance.  "Stop behaving like a child!" he shouted at her receding back.

She didn't speak and didn't slow down.  Her only reply was a gesture.

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

**Title:               **Sympathy for the Devil

**Author:            **Burked

**Disclaimers:            **CSI is a registered trademark of CBS, Inc.  

**A/N:                **Nothing like positive feedback to get the creative juices flowing.  

"Can you read this part?" Grissom asked Catherine, his anger at Sara still edging through in his voice.

"You've got to be kidding," Catherine said, turning the page every direction to attempt to find anything recognizable in the writing, anything to link it to English.

"I can't believe she's done this to us," Grissom murmured.  "I'll take it to Questioned Documents.  Maybe Ronnie can make it out."

"Great.  Now we have to QD our own notes," Catherine snorted.  "What _I_ can't believe is that you managed to get quite so many appendages in your mouth at one time.  That was so wrong to second-guess her that way," Catherine said, shaking her head.

"Don't start, Catherine.  I am not in the mood," he warned gravely.

"You seem to think that if you ignore it, the problem will go away.  Do you really think she'll walk back in here tomorrow like nothing happened?  Time to rethink, then.  She won't, if for no other reason than her pride.  You've attacked the main thing she values about herself.  It was unforgivable," Catherine said heatedly.

"Let her quit!" he barked, flinging his hand out, shooing away her image.  "I'm sick of her histrionics.  She's too high-maintenance," he said, grabbing up the pages to take to QD.  

Catherine coughed out an unbelieving laugh and shook her head.  "Give me those," Catherine snapped at him, snatching the pages from his hand.

"Where are you going?" he asked as she started out the door wordlessly.

"To go find Sara.  One of us has got to be a grown-up, and it isn't likely to be you," she said acidly.

* * * * *

Lilith was concerned.  She liked to be able to plan, and then she liked to stick to her plans religiously.  But Robert Harris was forcing her to have to re-evaluate.  If he kept this up, she would have to remove him from the gene pool much sooner than she intended.

Perfection came through careful planning and attention to detail when executing the plan – everything in its right time and place.  Common criminals acted rashly.  Sensible people prepared.  It was the plan that protected her from those who were blinded and would want to stop her.  Even the thought that she might have to deviate made her anxious.  

Having to move the body after the first execution was so emotionally taxing that she had actually felt faint and nauseated.  The only way to be in control was to plan the work and work the plan.

She followed him to the playground and hid across the street, pretending to be looking in store windows.  She would turn every few seconds and watch him watch them.  He was hunting, like the predator he was.  She chortled thinking about how the predator was the prey, and didn't even know it.

She couldn't do anything about his stepdaughter, but she could certainly save one of these children from a fate worse than death.  She would have to maintain surveillance on him constantly today, to ensure that he didn't fulfill his sick desires yet.  She hoped he was a planner, too, and was not prepared to act yet.  But she sensed him closing in on his own prey.

Tonight she would dispatch him to the summary judgment she hoped awaited him.  Her neck began to tense and her stomach churned.

* * * * *

Catherine had tried calling and paging Sara, to no avail.  She didn't blame her.  Sara probably thought that Catherine was going to stick up for Grissom and try to talk her into relenting.  

Instead, Catherine drove to Sara's apartment, hoping she'd be there.  Had this happened to Catherine, she would probably not go home right away.  She'd want to blow off a little steam.  She felt a little of the weight lift from her shoulders when she saw Sara's car in the lot, and a light on in her apartment.

Catherine knocked on the door, but got no answer.  She began to knock harder and call Sara's name.  

She apparently wasn't going to answer the door.  The insistent pounding, though, was threatening to wake her neighbors, and Catherine knew that the reclusive Sidle wouldn't want the attention.

Sara was relieved it wasn't Grissom, but not by much.  She wasn't looking forward to any of Catherine's lectures or manipulations.  She pulled the door open without a word, fury still freezing her face into a hard mask.

"Hey," Catherine said, showing herself in.  "Heard what happened.  Sucks," she said.

"If you're here to talk me into apologizing, forget it!" Sara spit out.

"Why should you apologize?  He's the one being a jerk," Catherine said empathetically, moving into the living room.  "Mind if I have a seat?  I'm beat already," Catherine said.

"Sure," Sara said, resigned that Catherine was going to stay.

"I want you to know that I don't blame you one bit.  If this were the only time, I would say you should probably overlook it.  But he's been an asshole to you for months.  I'm surprised you held on this long," Catherine said sadly.

"Quitting is the best thing all the way around.  If I piss him off that much, just by showing up to work, then what kind of career can I expect there now?  And, tonight ..." she huffed, "he didn't even let me tell him about the mistakes she made.  He just jumped down my throat right off the bat.  Piss on him," she hissed.

"_I'd_ like to hear about your conversation with Lilith.  I've got the notes, but I can't make heads or tails out of them," Cath chuckled.

"Sorry.  It's my own shorthand, combined with poor handwriting," Sara said, embarrassed.

"Here, you take these, and I'll transcribe my own notes," Catherine offered, pulling a notebook from her purse.

Sara began to recite the conversation to Catherine, who busily took it down word for word, stopping occasionally to ask clarifying questions.  When Sara reached the end, she looked expectantly at Catherine.  

"You played her like a violin!" Catherine gushed.  "Okay, let's look at this.  We know there's another crime scene – one with a lot of the victim's blood and a little of hers.  There's a nail, possibly with her epithelials and blood on it.  And she's gotten a tetanus shot since then."

"I think we should start with the emergency rooms.  The murder was on a Sunday, so she couldn't have gone to a private doctor for the shot, and she would most likely want to get it right away.  My guess is a hospital or one of those urgent care facilities.  They would want a warrant, though."

"We wouldn't necessarily need one for the screening.  PD can ask them if they gave any women a tetanus shot on Sunday.  If they say 'no', they move on.  If 'yes' or decline to answer, then they get a warrant.  You done good, kiddo!" Catherine said, reaching out to squeeze Sara's arm.

Sara looked down and smiled, the hurt and anger from earlier being pushed back.  She wrote a set of numbers slowly on a notepad, trying to make them legible.  "Here.  Give this to Archie.  It's an FTP site where I'm having the Boston and Chicago PDs send the driver's license lists.  He can download them and import them into the database program.  Maybe a name will pop up that matches a woman get a tetanus shot on Sunday," she said, smiling.

"Thanks, Sara.  I really appreciate it.  You didn't have to help us, but you did anyway.  You call me if you need anything.  Or even if you don't need anything," she said.  At the door, Catherine impulsively put her arm around Sara's neck, pulling her into a hug.  "Don't be a stranger," she said.

"I won't," Sara promised, closing the door behind Catherine.  She hadn't been away from the lab two hours and she was already feeling adrift.

* * * * * 

Catherine slammed a photocopy of her transcribed notes on Grissom's desk.  "Read 'em 'n' weep," she said, glaring at Grissom.  Her first thought was to walk out and leave him to stew.  But she couldn't make herself move.  She wanted to see his reaction when he had read the entire conversation.

At first, he was guarded.  "How did you figure this out?" he asked.

"I didn't.  I told you I was going to find Sara, and I did," Catherine answered sharply.

"And she helped you on this?" he asked.

"She's a professional, Grissom.  She was only too willing to help.  She also gave me the site where the driver's license data will be sent, and told me that Archie knew how to work the database program."

Grissom re-read sections of the pages, with excitement and shame warring in his mind for control.

"I think you owe Sara an apology, and I don't mean sending another friggin' plant," Catherine said.  "This deserves the personal touch.  Groveling wouldn't be out of the question," she suggested firmly.

Grissom exhaled sharply, stood and gathered his cell phone and keys.  

"Don't fuck this up," Catherine said as he passed her, eliciting a sharp sideways glance from Grissom.

"I never intend to," he shot back.

* * * * *

Lilith stood next to Harris's bed, slowly stripping off the outer layer of covering over herself.  She was double-gloved, and had on two disposable hospital gowns.  She wore two hair covers and a face shield.  Most of the people she executed would be considered high-risk, and she certainly didn't want any of their blood on her.  

She would leave the CSIs the outer garments.  They would have no epithelials from her since she wore another set inside this one, but it would keep them busy looking.  If they found anything it would be from somebody working at a warehouse who packed the items for shipment.

She would burn the inner layer out in the desert, where the wind would carry the ashes for miles.  Only the face shield would remain.  It was a loose end, but a necessary one.  She wasn't about to allow one of these animals to give her some god-awful bloodborne disease.

She chortled to herself.  The only thing more fun than leaving no evidence is leaving misleading evidence.  If they were smart, they wouldn't fall for it, but she knew that they would have to check anyway.

Lilith looked around the small bedroom, noting the blood spatter on the ceiling and walls.  'He must have had high blood pressure,' she noted to herself.  The blood normally spurted in rhythm to the fading heartbeat when she castrated them, but Harris's fountain surprised her.  

She walked over to the head of the bed.  Leaning slightly over Harris, she dragged her finger through the blood spatter on the wall, printing the message:  "I will never forget."

She wasn't normally one for leaving messages.  The act seemed so trite, so melodramatic, so 'look at me.'  She wasn't doing this for attention.  She was doing this for retribution on behalf of all of those who could not avenge themselves.  She would gladly make the sacrifice for them.  She was leaving the message for Sara.

This was the fifteenth animal she had put out of his misery.  She considered how many children would never come face to face with these monsters who might have otherwise.  If she were captured or killed tomorrow, she considered that her life had still come to mean something.

* * * * *

"Sara, please open the door," Grissom called out, pounding on the thin metal barrier.  "Sara, goddamnit!  Open the door!" he yelled, losing his patience.

"Je-_sus_!" she spat out, swinging the door open suddenly, nearly sending him sprawling until he regained his balance.  "I know you don't get out much, but it's considered rude to make that much noise at this hour of the morning.  There are normal people trying to sleep around here," she said, pointing out generically at the other apartments.

"Well, I wouldn't have to make all that noise if you'd answer your phone or the door," he spat out defensively.

"You could have just taken the hint," she said, crossing her arms and tossing her brunette hair back defiantly.  "Maybe I don't want to listen to you anymore."

"Even if what I have to say is an apology?" he asked hopefully.

"Actions speak louder than words, Grissom," she asserted, glaring.  

He was reminded of the other time he was told that apologies were just words.  He didn't know what to say then, either.

"I'd like to apologize anyway.  I'm sorry about tonight, about not listening to you before criticizing you.  I didn't mean to imply that I think you are not competent.  You are the best CSI I have," he said.

"_Had," she corrected, still not moving from the door, making sure he knew how unwelcome he was._

"Sara, please," he breathed out, closing his eyes and running a hand back through his hair.

"Please what, Grissom?" she spat in frustration.  "You can screw with my head on a personal level all you want, but don't screw with me professionally.  I won't tolerate it anymore.  You want to draw lines?  Well, here's a line I'm drawing." 

"I said I was sorry!  What more do I have to do?  Beg?  Okay, I'm begging you to reconsider," Grissom said in a voice that didn't convey much remorse.

"Why do you want me to come back?  So you can shit on me some more?  You'll have to find another whipping boy, Grissom," she spat derisively.

"Is that what you think?" Grissom said much louder than he had intended.  He couldn't understand how he could feel any attraction for Sara at all, considering that she could make him angrier than any other human being.  But he did.  Even now, with her face contorted in anger, she was beautiful.  Even now, with harsh words on her lips, he longed to feel them against his.

"What would _you_ think, if it were you at the receiving end?  If I treated you the way you've treated me, you would have flipped out a long time ago.  Look, you don't have to go out with me.  You don't even have to like me.  But, by God, you will treat me with some respect," she said sharply.  "My career is all I have and I will _not_ let you take that from me," she swore vehemently.

Just as Grissom opened his mouth, Sara's beeper, home phone and cell phone all began to sound, simultaneously filling the air with electronic cacophony.  

"My God!  What's going on?" she said, seeing that they were all the main lab number.  Sara picked up her cell phone and answered, "Sidle."

"Ms. Sidle, this is Rose.  You had a call from Lilith.  She wants you to call her back on her cell phone.  She says it's urgent," Rose said excitedly.  She rattled off the cell phone number to Sara.

"Thank you, Rose," Sara said, closing the cell phone. 

"What was that about?" Grissom asked, diverted from the crisis he was already involved in.

"Lilith called for me.  She wants me to call her right back.  Here's her number," Sara said, handing the sheet of notepaper to him.

"Sounds like she wants to talk to you, not me," he said.

"You can tell her I don't work there anymore," Sara said, walking back to the door and pulling it open, inviting him to leave.

"Please, Sara, don't do this to me," Grissom said hoarsely.

"You can handle Lilith," Sara countered.

"I wasn't talking about the call," he exhaled.

"What then?" she challenged him.

Breathing in deeply, fighting to calm himself and gather his courage, Grissom answered the way he decided he should have years ago, "Sara, please don't leave.  I need you."

"I've heard that before.  Then the next week – poof! – I don't even exist," she said.

Grissom felt like there was nothing he could say or do to change her mind right now, while she was still this angry with him, and objectively he couldn't blame her.  "I don't know what to do to make this better," he said, reaching out to gently grasp her arm, hoping contact would break the curse.

"Don't ... touch ... me," she said harshly, through clenched teeth, jerking her arm from him.  

Grissom jerked back his hand as though he had been burned.  "I'm sorry.  I guess I can't do anything right," he mumbled, turning and bounding too quickly down the stairs.  Sitting in his Tahoe, he leaned his head back briefly, trying to refocus on work, pushing her out of his thoughts.  He took several deep breaths and sat back up, punching in Lilith's cell phone number.

"Hello," she said quickly, as though she had been anxious for the call.

"Hello, Lilith.  This is Gil Grissom," he began.

"I wanted to talk to Sara," she said dismissively.

"I'm sorry, but that's not possible right now," Grissom said.

"Why not?" Lilith demanded.

"It's complicated and has nothing to do with your case," Grissom assured her.

"I had something really important to tell her," Lilith said, voice trailing off, beginning to feel out of control again.

"You can tell me," he suggested.

"No offense, but I trust Sara."

"You could call Catherine," Grissom suggested.  "She was working closely with Sara."

"I could, but I'm not going to," Lilith said sharply.  "Look, I'm not in the mood to deal with whatever cluster fuck is going on there.  I've got my own to deal with.  You either get me in touch with Sara in the next fifteen minutes, or you can forget it.  I'm not talking to anyone else," she said, breaking the connection.

'Could anything else could possibly go wrong?' Grissom asked himself.  His eyes traveled to the now-unlit windows of Sara's apartment.  Soon the sun would be up, sending the light the other direction, in through the glass.

Grissom sighed and hoisted himself tiredly out of the SUV.  He would have to beard the lion once again.  He pulled himself up the steps and knocked quietly on the door.

This time she opened it before he had to escalate to public nuisance.  "Forget something?" she asked harshly, standing in the gap of the door to prevent him from entering.

"I just talked to Lilith.  She says she will only talk to you, and that if she can't talk to you in the next fifteen minutes, she's not calling us anymore.  Sara, there's a lot more at stake here than our interpersonal problems.  Would you please call her back?  She says it's urgent."

"Why should I?  I've been doing my job, but I have to ask myself why I should bust my ass to keep her from killing a bunch of Neanderthal child molesters.  And don't even try to hand me that crap about the system.  These are innocent children we're talking about here.  But instead of protecting _them_, I'm expected to protect the people who rape and sometimes kill them.  She can execute them all, as far as I'm concerned.  No loss to the world," she said invectively.

"Sara, you have no idea how much I understand and even agree with what you are saying, on an emotional level.  But we have to have a system of laws, whether we think it always works well or not.  Otherwise, we have chaos.  She kills the molesters.  Someone else kills the murderers, including her.  Someone else kills everyone who looks cross-eyed at them.  We have to be impartial in our actions, no matter how we feel on the inside, and let the justice system handle the rest," he said gently.

"I know.  You're right.  But it just burns me up," she said, shaking with anger.  "The term 'justice system' is an oxymoron, if you ask me."

He looked inquiringly at her and silently asked if he could come in out of the doorway.  Sara grudgingly stepped back and allowed him to come in.

"Give me the number," she breathed out, her voice heavy with resignation.

Grissom handed her the slip with Lilith's phone number written on it, and she dialed her cell phone.  

"Hello?" Lilith answered more cautiously.

"Hi, Lilith.  It's Sara.  I hear you're looking for me," she said evenly.

"I'm glad you called.  If I didn't get a hold of you soon, the day shift might get the case, and that would muddy the waters."

"What case?" Sara asked, her brows knitting in confusion.

"It wasn't my fault!  I couldn't wait any longer.  I was going to execute him this Sunday, but I had to act before he ruined that poor baby," Lilith said defensively.

"Slow down, Lilith.  Just tell me what happened," Sara said.  She motioned Grissom over and held the phone between them so they could both hear, their heads touching at the crown.

"He was stalking a little girl, following her at the park.  Watching her play in her own yard.  He went to her school.  He was close to acting, I could feel it.  He screwed up the whole schedule.  He ruined everything!" she said, voice cracking.

"Have you called the police yet?" Sara asked calmly.

"No, I called you first.  I wanted to make sure you understood.  I wasn't trying to trick you, and it's not a copycat.  He forced my hand," she said, obviously upset.

"I understand," Sara said.  "Where do I find him?" 

Lilith gave Sara the address and specific directions on how to get there the quickest way.

"I'll take care of it," Sara promised.  "Just calm down.  I'll call you later." 

"Okay.  I'm going to try to rest for a while.  I'm exhausted.  Thanks for taking care of this, Sara," Lilith said gratefully.

"It's my job," Sara said.

"Speaking of which, is everything okay there?  They told me at first that I couldn't talk to you.  Then Grissom said you weren't available.  I had to pitch a fit to talk to you.  What's going on?" Lilith asked.

"Don't worry.  I just had to take a little time away from work to settle a personal issue.  Let me give you my cell number and you can call me directly," Sara offered, reciting her number.

The two women, on the same side emotionally, but on the opposite side legally, bade their farewells.  Sara dialed dispatch and reported a possible 420-Homicide at the residence of Robert Harris, Jr. 

Hanging up, she grabbed a sweater and her field kit, and headed for the door.  "Well, are you coming or not?" she asked impatiently.  It was always a case that seemed to sooth their troubled relations, and Grissom fervently hoped this morning would be the same.  It was ironic that he had Lilith to thank for achieving what he had tried and failed to do, but he'd take it any way he got it.

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

**Title:               **Sympathy for the Devil

**Author:            **Burked

**Email:**             res0rvm5@verizon.net

**Disclaimers:            **CSI is a registered trademark of CBS, Inc.  

**A/N:                **Some of you who have so graciously sent in reviews don't have an email address listed on your fanfiction.net profile.  Sometime you pose questions (rhetorical or otherwise), or have comments or suggestions that I'd like to discuss, but can't.  If it doesn't cause privacy issues, I'd prefer for those folks to email their reviews so that I can respond.  This goes for you, too, LAURA KATHARINE!  I'd prefer the others to stick to leaving them on fanfiction.net, though you are welcome to email me any time as well.

* * * * *

"More evidence that she was a victim herself," Sara said, reading the message on the wall.

"My God, there's blood everywhere," Grissom said.  "She had to have been drenched in it."

"How thoughtful," Sara said from the other side of the bed.  She held up the hospital gown that was now turning stiff and brown from dried blood.  "She left us her clothing.  How much do you want to bet that there's not one of her epithelials on either side?"

"That's a sucker bet," Grissom agreed.  "But we have to check."

Sara bagged each piece separately in paper bags to allow air flow to continue to dry them.  Grissom took pictures of the walls, ceiling, and corpse-covered bed.  He switched off the lights and each of them scanned half the room with ultraviolet lights.  They collected several hairs and fibers that most likely originated here, but until they had a better lead on Lilith, they wouldn't exclude anything.

"Grissom, look at this!" Sara shouted, pointing to the message on the wall.  "You may need your magnifying glass.  Look at the very tops of the letters.  She held her finger a bit longer and pressed harder at the start of each letter.  She must have only had on one pair of gloves when she wrote them, and they were the thin latex kind like they sell at retail stores.  You can just make out a few ridges."

"I don't think there is enough ridge detail on any of them for an ID," Grissom opined, peering through the glass.

"Not each one by itself, but what if Jacqui could compile them?  They are likely to all be the same finger.  I don't know if she can, but it's worth a try," Sara smiled.

Grissom was not convinced, but when he turned and saw her hopeful smile, his objections melted away.  It had been too long since he had seen her smile, and longer still since he had been the motivation for it.  As he had hoped, working on the scene together was defusing her anger with him.  He was grateful that she didn't know what power she held over him at that moment.  

Sara held up the smallest scale ruler she had directly under each suspected ridge set and photographed them with the macro lens.  "If we were as high-tech as the labs in the movies, we would whip out a wireless laptop and send these digitally to Jacqui.  She could have it all done by the time we got back to the lab," Sara mused.

"It's amazing how much things have already changed since I first started," Grissom nodded.  

Sara's cell phone rang and she recognized Lilith's number.  

"Sidle," she answered mechanically, holding the phone again between her head and Grissom's.

"Hey.  Why is Grissom at the scene with you instead of Catherine?  Does _she_ have personal issues to deal with now?" Lilith laughed.

"She would have to leave soon.  No use starting a scene if you can't finish it.  Grissom is working with Cath and me."

"Why?" she asked suspiciously.

"To protect us from the bogeyman," Sara chuckled.

Lilith laughed at the thought that anyone would consider her dangerous.  

"Let me ask you a question.  How do you feel about my so-called victims?" Lilith asked, suddenly changing course.

Grissom shifted his head slightly but imperceptibly to look at Sara.  He wanted to know the answer as much as Lilith did.

"I think that anyone who abuses children in any manner should be given the death penalty," Sara answered without hesitation.  "No exceptions.  No plea bargains."

"That's exactly what I'm doing.  The courts won't do it, so it's left to me to do.  I know I can't get them all.  But every one I do execute saves several children.  Do you see why I do it?" she asked.

"Yes," Sara answered evenly.  

Grissom shifted uncomfortably, fearing that Sara's moral compass was being cleverly subverted.

"What would you do if you were me?" Lilith asked.

"I don't know," Sara answered. ... "Can I ask you a very personal question?"

"I might not answer, but you can ask," Lilith allowed.

"Were you a victim of sexual abuse as a child?" Sara asked gently, compassion softening her accent.

"I will never forget," Lilith reinterated her message.

"Nor will I, Lilith," Sara barely squeaked out.

Grissom's head spun around quickly, a look of shock and horror on his face.  He wanted to hold her right now, but not in any romantic way.  He wanted to pull her into himself, let her hide behind the walls that had protected him from the world for so long.  He found that he was unbelievably angry, and it made it all the worse that he didn't have a target to direct that anger at.

"I knew we had a connection," Lilith said softly.

"I've got to get back to work," Sara said hoarsely.

"Call me if you need me," Lilith offered, hanging up.

Sara put away her cell phone and began to gather the evidence silently, logging each piece carefully before placing it in the larger bag.  She working quietly, evidently lost in her own thoughts.

Grissom stood immobile, paralyzed, unable to so much as think.  Even if he could think, he didn't know what he was supposed to think.  Wordlessly, he helped her carry her equipment and evidence to the SUV.  The drive back was similarly devoid of words, which suited both of them.  

In the parking lot of the lab, Grissom finally broke the silence.  "After we get the evidence logged in, do you want to go somewhere?" he asked tenderly.

"Yes.  I want to go home," she answered somewhat curtly, opening the door and bailing out in one continuous motion.  She headed directly to the lab, never looking back.  Grissom saw no reason to move;  she obviously didn't want to be with him right now.  The least he could do is respect her wishes.

* * * * *

"All I'm saying is to keep an eye on her," Grissom said tiredly.

"What am I supposed to be looking for?" Catherine asked.  "Unusual behavior?  You mean like not eating right?  Oh, never mind, that's all the time.  Or like not getting enough sleep?  Forget that one, too.  Having a thing for an emotionally unavailable man?  Nope, she's always had that, as well.  What exactly are you talking about?" Catherine huffed.

"Ha ha, Catherine.  Very funny.  But I'm serious.  I think she's identifying with Lilith.  She's supposed to be representing the victims," Grissom said.

"She _is_ representing the victims, just different victims," Catherine suggested.  "How do you expect her to identify with child molesters?  I know I can't.  Can you?  If you say 'yes', I will shoot you on the spot," she warned.  "And I know how to get away with it."

"I don't want her to identify with _any_ of them.  I want her to do her job objectively.  I don't know if she can on this case." 

"I understand why you think you should be worried, but you are underestimating Sara. If you can't trust her all the way, on any case, then you don't trust her at all, no matter what you say.  You haven't finished smoothing things over from the last time you pulled this crap.  I suggest that you keep your mouth shut," Catherine advised.

"I won't let her emotions compromise this case," Grissom said emphatically.  "But more important, I don't want this case to compromise her.  If it's affecting her too much, I want her off of it, for her own good.  I want you to promise me that you will keep Sara's best interests in mind at all times.  Promise me that," Grissom commanded.

"I promise," Catherine agreed.  She could prognosticate that this was likely to turn out badly, all the way around.

* * * * *

Sara sat in front of her computer at home, retrieving the database files from Boston and Chicago.  She imported them into her older, but still servicable dBase program, identifying the available fields of information for each.  She pulled up the Nevada driver's license file she had already received days ago.  

She linked matching fields for the three reports and ran a canned report to find all the records with matching last names.  When the report returned too many names, she added the first name field as an additional parameter.  There were five women who had moved to Las Vegas within the last six months who had previously lived in Boston and Chicago.  

Sara was surprised that there were that many.  Though she was fully capable of calculating the odds of that, she had never tried, assuming the odds were that there were probably only one or at most two.

Catherine had given the tetanus information to Brass, and he was chasing down which hospitals and urgent care facilities administered the tetanus vaccine on Sunday.  Hopefully, the number would be small enough to be able to talk a judge into approving warrants for their records.

Sara called Brass with the five names.  She wasn't surprised that he wasn't asleep either.  He said that he would check them out today.  It was possible that they would know the identity and whereabouts of Lilith very soon. 

Knowing who she is and where she is would be a huge step forward, but unlike most of the TV cop shows, knowing who did the crime is meaningless unless you can prove it.  For that, she needed physical evidence.  She needed to find the primary crime scene for the first murder.

* * * * *

"Sara, we need to talk," Grissom breathed into the phone.  "Actually, you need to talk and I need to listen," he clarified.

"Talk about what?" she asked warily.

"I think you know," he answered cagily.

"The case?" she hazarded.

"Tangentially," he answered.  "But I don't want to get into this over the phone.  Can we meet somewhere?" he asked hopefully.

"Not if you're going to talk about what I think you're going to talk about.  First of all, it's not a public discussion.  Second, and most important, I don't really want to talk about it with you," she said, hoping it was a topic-ender.

"I think it's imperative we talk about it, and we can talk wherever you want to," he offered.  "You can come here, or I can go there.  Whatever makes you most comfortable."

"The whole thing is making me very _un_comfortable," she countered.

"Sara, if we can't talk about what's going on with you, I have to assume the worst and take you off the case," Grissom returned ominously.

Fury rising in her, tightening her chest and throat, Sara replied, "I see.  You _still_ don't trust me with the case.  You've been second-guessing me from the beginning.  I knew I shouldn't have come back," she said, her voice trailing off.  She was still mumbling about her naivete and stupidity when he interrupted.

"That's not how it is.  Let me see you and explain," he asked urgently.

The line was silent for several seconds as she mulled over his request.  

"Okay, Grissom, you win.  As usual," she conceded heavily.  "But just because I listen to you explain what you mean doesn't imply that I agree to talk to you about anything."

"It's at least a start.  Do you want me to come over now?  Or later, after we've slept?"

"I don't want to do this at all.  But, it's your party, so you name the time," she said sarcastically.

"I don't think I can sleep, so how about I plan to be there in half an hour?"

"Sleep?  What's that?" she asked acerbically.

"See you soon," Grissom gently said, hanging up the phone.  He would have just enough time to give the shower an opportunity to slap him into wakefulness.

* * * * *

"For God's sake, Grissom," Sara shouted, "I'm doing my job.  That's all.  I'll say whatever I think is appropriate to get her to talk to me."

"So you are telling me that you don't agree with her?" Grissom asked.

"I'm not saying I agree or don't agree.  What I think is moot.  It has nothing to do with doing my job."

"Are you so sure about that?" he challenged her.

"You tell me!  Who's gotten most of the evidence for the case so far?  You?  Catherine?  No, it's been me.  Because she chooses to talk to _me_," Sara said defiantly.

"Because she perceives that you have some things in common," he hazarded.

"She can perceive whatever she wants to, as long as she keeps talking."

"Why won't you answer my questions directly?  Do you or do you not believe she's doing the right thing?  Do you or do you not share a similar history?" he asked.  He had been unable to get her to open up to him earlier when they had been discussing this more calmly, so he had allowed the conversation to spill into anger, hoping she would blurt out the truth.

"Why won't I answer your questions?  You've got to be kidding me!  This from the man who wouldn't even tell me how he learned to sign.  That's hardly a startling revelation to make, but you didn't feel the need to share.  But you expect me to bare my soul to you on your command?  You of all people have no right to ask me personal questions.  If you think that I am not conducting myself professionally in this case, then reassign me or fire me."

Sara realized that Grissom had been clever to want to meet at her apartment.  If they had been anywhere else, she could have walked out.

"I don't think you understand, Sara," Grissom said calmly, trying to back her up from the emotional precipice she was standing on.  "It's not that I think you aren't doing a good job on this case.  Let me be clear – you are.  I know you'll do what's right.  But if you really do connect with her, it could tear you apart to gather the evidence that could end up putting her on Death Row."  

Grissom got up from his chair and moved over to the couch to sit next to her.  She stiffened when he reached out to put his hand on her shoulder, but he didn't remove it right away.  "I don't want this to hurt you.  Can't you accept that I just want what's best for you?"

"Well, I have to admit _that's_ a little difficult to believe.  For you, it's always been work first.  And I'm telling you, if you want her to tell us enough to nail her, you'll leave me on this case."

Grissom dropped his hand and leaned over, propping his forearms on his thighs, looking down as he fiddled with his hands.  "Sara, I know things have been very strained between us for a while, and I know it's my fault.  There are reasons, but they are irrelevant.  All I know it that it nearly killed me to hear you imply to Lilith that you were a victim too.  I know I have no right to ask, but I've got to know," he said hoarsely, his throat constricted in pain.

Sara studied him, watching the muscle in his jaw clenching rhythmically, and saw that his pain was real.  No matter what had or hadn't happened between them, she still loved him and would still do anything to take the pain away.  

"No, Grissom.  I was never a victim.  I just implied that so she would think I was sympathetic," Sara answered.  "She's likely to reveal more to someone she thinks can relate to her."

Grissom let out a breath that he wasn't aware he was holding.  He felt like crying from relief.  He couldn't stand the thought that she carried that kind of burden.  "Thank you for answering my question," he said gratefully, never asking himself why it had been so difficult to get the answer.

"So are you going to let me do what you're paying me for, or are you going to keep doubting me?" she asked.

"I trust you," he answered simply, standing up.  He was emotionally and physically exhausted, and knew that he would need to leave now if he expected to get home before he collapsed.  "I better go.  I'm beat."

"Grissom," Sara said, catching him by the arm as he walked past, "Thanks for caring."

He smiled at her and surprised them both by reaching up to cup her cheek.  "I care," he said simply, then turned to retreat before he went any further over the line.  

* * * * *

"Some kids were playing frisbee," Brass explained, leading Catherine, Sara and Grissom towards a clump of bushes that surrounded a tree.  "It went into the bushes.  When they went it to look for it, they found this," he said, pulling back a tall shrub to expose a small open area covered in old, dried blood.  

"Too much for an animal, and no corpse of any species.  Think maybe it's your primary crime scene?" Brass asked hopefully.

"Only one way to find out," Catherine answered, and the three wandered around the clump trying to decide the best way to gather the evidence without destroying the scene prematurely.

"I say, let's take pictures and bring a sample of the blood to Greg to compare to the first victim.  If it matches, we can take this scene apart leaf by leaf.  If not, since we have no body, we have no crime.  If something turns up later, we have the pictures and the sample," Grissom suggested to Catherine.

"Sounds good to me," Brass nodded, looking to Catherine for confirmation.

* * * * *

Based on Greg's confirmation that the blood matched the first victim, the three CSIs went back to the park with a box of plastic trash bags, a flat shovel and pruning shears.  Sara crawled on her hands and knees around the bases of the bushes, taking measurements and calling them out to Catherine, who was doing the scene sketch.

"We need to mark the spatter, then get an overhead shot, since we can't get a good locator shot from the outside of the clump," Sara suggested.  

Grissom and Catherine looked at each other and snorted.  "I assume _you_ are volunteering to climb the tree," Catherine told Sara.

"Sure, I don't mind," Sara said, "but the lowest branch is a little too high for me to reach.  Someone give me a boost?" she asked, already at the base of the tree, looking up to chart her path. 

Again, Catherine and Grissom looked at each other.  He switched his gaze towards Sara, then back to Catherine:  "I love my work," he said quietly to Catherine.

"It still shows," Catherine retorted.

Grissom bent down next to Sara and put his hands together, interlocking the fingers.  She put a hand on his shoulder and a foot in his hands, which brought her chest just at eye level.  Grissom fought to suppress a grin, opting to look down rather than ahead or at Catherine.

"Okay, on three.  One, two, three!" she counted, then pushed off as he stood up and lifted his hands.  She grasped the branch and swung herself up onto it.  Locking her legs around the branch, she leaned over precariously and took several pictures from above.

"How's she going to get down?" Catherine whispered, leaning into Grissom's ear.  The tree truck was too large to grasp, and too rough to slide down.

"I really, really love my work," Grissom said, moving back under the tree.  Sara carefully dislodged her legs and swung down to hang by her hands, but she was still several feet off the ground, and there were shrubs under the tree that could easily injure her if she landed on them.  She hadn't considered how she was going to get down, until she was already hanging there, like a stranded kitten.

"Want some help?" Grissom asked coyly, standing next to her dangling feet.

"Do I have a choice?" she asked.

"Sure," he answered, shrugging and making like he was going to walk away and leave her dangling.

"Grissom!" Sara squealed.

"What?" he answered.  

"Don't leave me hanging here!" she said.  When he positioned himself under her again, he put his hands on her legs, only able to reach just below her knees.

"Let go and I'll catch you," he said.

"Is this one of those team-building trust exercises?  'Cause I never did very well at those," Sara said ruefully.

"You can trust me.  I'll catch you," Grissom asserted.

"One, two, three!" she counted again, letting go of the branch.  Grissom let her slide through his hands for a few feet, then caught her around the waist.  Pulling her closer into him and wrapping his arms around her, he let her body slowly slide down his until she had her feet on the ground.  He held her at least two seconds longer than was necessary, bringing a blush to both of their faces.

Leaning in to whisper in his ear, Sara said, "You said I could trust you!"

He laughed and answered, "Trust that I'd catch you.  I didn't say what I'd do once I did," he teased, happy that he had not received another lecture on crossing the ever-moving line.

She playfully slapped at his shoulder, and looked over at Catherine, who was pretending not to notice, seeming to be studying the ground for footprints or other evidence.  

"Hey, wait a minute!  Look at this!" Sara said suddenly turning serious, leaning in towards the tree.  Grissom followed her line of sight and found what had diverted her attention.  An old rusty nail was driven into the side of the tree, as though someone had once hung something from it, like a hammock.  

"Hard to tell if there's anything else on it, with all that rust," Grissom noted.  After Sara photographed it, he used the pruning shears like pliers to grasp the nail and wiggle it out of the tree and drop it in a bindle.

"I know I'd get a tetanus shot if I snagged my arm on that," Sara said.

"Get it to Greg ASAP.," Catherine directed Sara.  "Grissom and I will finish processing the scene.  Grab a shovel, Big Boy."

"Why do I have to do the digging?" he whined.

"Because I just got my nails done and you're the man," Catherine answered.

"That's sexist!" he said, pushing the blade into the hard dirt around the first bush.

"OK, then because I'm the primary, and I say so!" she retorted.

"Last time I checked, a Supervisor trumps a CSI-III," he shot back, angling the handle down to dislodge the bush, roots popping free, throwing bits of dirt.

"Yeah, whatever.  Just dig."

Sara smiled at the friendly bickering that was fading as she strode resolutely toward her SUV.  Things might finally be falling into place.  It made her feel excited, like when a bloodhound finally picked up the scent.  She fought valiantly to keep any other thoughts about Lilith from subverting her from her goal.  As they say, nothing else matters, and what if it did?

TBC

A/N:  Must remember to thank Mossley and LSI again ... and again ...  A good beta who will be honest is hard to find.  They are as precious as gold.


	7. Chapter 7

**Title:               **Sympathy for the Devil

**Author:            **Burked

**Email: **            res0rvm5@verizon.net

**Disclaimer:            **CSI is a registered trademark of CBS, Inc.  

It was Sunday night, and time to choose another dragon to slay.  Her eyes played down the printout, further than she had looked before.  

"Positive proof that evolution can run in reverse," she said, marking the next name.  His name was Patrick Samuell, and he had been convicted of one count of indecency with a child and one count of child pornography.  When he was arrested, they had found a video he had shot of an encounter with an eight-year-old boy.  He had made several copies, apparently with the intent to distribute them.

"Bad enough what you did to that little boy, but to try to profit off of it ..." she said, shaking her head to try to dislodge the mental image forming there.

She printed out the map of the area of his last known address.  Tomorrow she would begin her research on Samuell.

Lilith decided to check in on Sara, calling her on her cell phone.  "I haven't heard from you for a while," she said.  "Just checking in."

"I've been busy," Sara confided.  "Unfortunately, yours isn't the only case I have."

"This next one is a doozy.  What a slimeball!" Lilith allowed.

"They're all slimeballs," Sara said, trying to get her to be more specific.

"Yeah, but this one is a real piece of work.  Not only did he rape that boy, but filmed it.  Like it's something to be proud of!  Maybe I should film him getting his dick cut off, as a sequel," she laughed.

"I'd appreciate that," Sara chuckled.  "It would certainly be incontrovertible evidence."

"Hmmm.  I guess you're right.  But it was a fun fantasy while it lasted."

"I'm on the schedule for Sunday, of course, but I have a couple of days off this week.  So if he does anything to hasten his departure, call me on my cell," Sara instructed.

"Will do," Lilith said brightly.  "Later!" she chirped, then hung up.

Sara was already logging onto the sexual offenders database to search for men who molested a boy and filmed it.  Lilith had screwed up again.

* * * * *

Sara was reciting the names of the five men in Las Vegas who fit the victim profile.  They were going through the police reports on each of them when Jacqui came bursting through the door, huffing from the run.

"I've got a match on AFIS.  Your composite print," she said, talking to Sara but handing the report to Catherine.  

"Lilian Corte, age 35.  Had her fingerprints taken because she's a licensed insurance broker in the state of Illinois."

"Lilian – Lilith.  First victims, Chicago, Illinois," Grissom affirmed.  

Sara ran across the hall to a workstation to look up the driver's license data on Lilian Corte.  She cursed the laser printer for being too slow as it spit out the screen print.  She ran back into the breakroom to deliver it to Catherine.  

Sara rifled through her burgeoning file to pull up the five names of women who had moved to Vegas from Boston, having lived in Chicago before.  The second name was Lilian Corte.  Picking out Brass's report that she had just received, it was one of only three names of women who received tetanus shots that Sunday.   "We've got her!" she squealed, slamming the pages down in front of Grissom and Catherine.  Both looked at the pages as if to burn the images in their minds, then treated Sara to two beaming smiles.  

"Like I said, you done good, kiddo!" Catherine said, reaching across to grab Sara's hand.

Grissom took the opportunity to do the same with Sara's other hand, feeling like Catherine's first move gave him cover.

Looking at the hands grasping hers, Sara snarked, "If you guys start singing Kum-baya, I'm out of here."

The three laughed as they gathered the papers spread all over the break room table.  Grissom called Brass to get a warrant to search Lilian Corte's apartment.  It was almost over – he could feel it.  Soon he wouldn't have to worry about Sara anymore ... at least until the next time, he reminded himself.

* * * * *

Brass met them at the door, warrant in hand.  He knocked, but there was no response.  He pounded on the door and announced himself, but there was no answer.  He waved forward an officer, who inserted a tool in the keyhole and punched out the lock.  The two policemen entered slowly, guns drawn.  

Brass took a moment to look back at the CSIs.  "You stay here," he said.  After one more step, he turned his head back around and looked directly at Sara, "And I mean it," he said forcefully.  She rolled her eyes, and shook her head as the other two CSIs gave her knowing 'you deserved that' looks.

After less than two minutes Brass returned to the front to usher them into the house.  He posted the officer at the door and followed them in.  The three instantly broke up, scanning the living area, but finding it rather bare.  It was obvious that Lilian Corte hadn't spent much time personalizing the apartment, as though she didn't expect to stay long.  

In the bedroom they found a bed, a dresser, and a desk with a late-model personal computer sitting on it.  Apparently, Lilian spent most of her at-home time on the PC.  A map was still displaying on the monitor, and Sara pulled out the chair to sit in front of the computer.  She printed the map, then looked at the history to see what Lilian had been looking at prior to the map.  The sexual offenders list materialized on the screen.

"You are so busted," she said under her breath.

Catherine and Grissom split up, with Grissom taking the bathroom and Catherine the closet.  

Grissom opened his kit and removed a swab, rubbing it around the drain of the sink, then coating the swab's tip with phenolthalein and hydrogen peroxide.  It turned pink, indicating blood, but it wasn't a strong reaction.  He marked the evidence and boxed it.  

Looking through the trash, he noticed a few bandaids that had blood on the pads.  Pleased to have a sample of Lilian's blood, he bagged them.  To match the blood to her, he also took some hair out of her brush.  

He carefully dusted around the sink area, where the smooth surfaces of the porcelain and chrome often hold the best prints.  He wasn't disappointed, gathering several prints from more than one finger.  Though they already had a hit on the composite print, Grissom felt it wise to gather full sets.  Jacqui's experimental work on the composite might not stand up under court scrutiny.

Catherine was sitting in front of the closet, picking up one shoe at a time, swabbing it for blood trace before setting it aside.  It was hard not to be disappointed as one shoe after the next came up negative.  She decided to bag them all, separately, for Hodges to take a look at.  He might be able to get some trace that would tie the shoe to a specific location.  Catherine reasoned that even if she wore shoe covers to commit the crimes, she probably didn't wear them on her approach or withdrawal from the scenes.  

She stood and went through the few clothes hanging in the closet, abandoning that to look through the dresser.  She decided that there was few enough articles of outerwear that she could spray them with Luminol to check for spatter.  

"Sara, I'm going to turn out the light," she warned, getting a distracted grunt in reply.  She was still busy checking the PC for recent activity.  The darkness in the rest of the room wouldn't affect her in the least.

Catherine mixed the solution in the spray bottle and quickly began coating the clothes with a light mist.  On the edge of a long-sleeved shirt she got a small glowing speck, no more than a few millimeters in diameter.  She quickly circled it with a pen and moved on to the other clothes.  None of the others fluoresced.  Smiling, she folded the shirt, spatter in the middle, and bagged it.  

Sara had finished looking at the recent history and began to rifle through the desk drawers.  She found the printout with names highlighted.  "I've got her list!" Sara shouted out, bringing Grissom, Catherine and Brass to her side.  

"God, I love it when it all starts falling into place!" she beamed.  "All you have to do is find one crack in the wall, and soon the whole thing is rubble," she said.  Sara hadn't intended a double entendre, but Grissom found the need to busy himself elsewhere nonetheless.

Brass immediately called for an APB to pick up Lilian Corte, and sent an officer to the home of Patrick Samuell.  It was likely that if she weren't home at this ungodly hour, then she was stalking her next victim, the only highlighted name on the list that hadn't turned up dead and castrated.

The team wordlessly gathered the evidence they had collected and retreated, anxious to get to the lab to begin processing it, tying all the loose ends together.  It was up to Brass and the police to complete the task.

* * * * *

It had been two busy days since they had gathered the evidence at Lilian Corte's house, and the police had still been unable to locate her.  None would say it aloud yet, but they were beginning to fear that she had moved on, as she had done in the past.  Only this time, it was because she had found her worthy opponents and had to run. 

Brass sat tiredly, slumped to the side of a chair across from Grissom.  He liked the dark peacefulness of Grissom's office, being used to the unusual decor after so many years of knowing him.  

"What do you think, Gil?  Think she's flown the coop?" Brass growled out.

"I don't know.  Maybe.  She's done it before," he sighed.  "We were so close ... so close."

"How did she know?" Brass asked rhetorically.

"She had been watching us, so maybe she saw us go to her house and got spooked," Grissom offered.

"Naw, I doubt that.  It's possible, but I doubt it," Brass said, shaking his head 'no'.  "Why would she be watching any of us if we weren't at a crime scene?  If anything, she'd be watching Samuell."

"Maybe she saw the cop you sent to Samuell's house and put two and two together," Grissom suggested.

"That's probably it," Brass conceded, not fully convinced, but not being able to think of an alternative.

* * * * * 

Sara had her part of the report completed and ready to turn in to Grissom.  She approached his office, but stopped when she heard another voice, one she recognized as Brass's.  Since the door was open, it was obviously not a private conversation, and she was going to pop in to deliver the reports, but the conversation stopped her.  She beat a hasty retreat back to her workstation.

Within fifteen minutes she had what she needed and made her way back to Grissom's office.  Brass had left and Grissom was sitting alone, signing the reports his CSIs had been turning in at a steady pace.  He looked up and looked at her ruefully, knowing that she was going to give him more paperwork to review and sign.

She handed him her folder, and he thanked her mechanically, turning his attention back to the pile of forms.  When she didn't leave, he cast his eyes back up to her questioningly.

"These are the records from my cell phone, my home phone, and my work extension for the past three days," she said, laying several sheets of paper down in front of him.

Grissom looked at them uncomprehending, then back at her, confusion written all over his face.

"I didn't warn her," Sara said vehemently.

"That thought never crossed my mind," Grissom said honestly.

"It would have, sooner or later," she retorted.

"No.  I trust you," he said, getting up to move to her side of his desk.  

"You asked me a question before, that I didn't answer.  I told you it was moot, and it was ... it is.  But now that the investigation is over, I can answer it now," she said softly, not wanting her voice to carry into the hall.

Grissom reached over and closed the door, waiting for her to continue.

"Yes, I do agree with Lilith ... Lilian ... to some extent.  But that doesn't mean I couldn't do my job.  They are letting those animals out of jail as fast as they are putting them in.  They should all be killed.  If not by the system, well ..." she trailed off.  "Anyway, I can see how someone with her history would snap and decide to mete out retribution on their own."

Grissom didn't comment, instead looking back and forth between her eyes.  "Sympathy for the devil?" he finally asked.

"Empathy might be a more precise term," she said, looking away from him.

Grissom closed his eyes.  "Did you lie to me? ... about the other?" he breathed out, an overwhelming sadness in his voice.

This time, she was prepared and didn't skip a beat.  "No, Grissom, I didn't.  It didn't happen to me, but to someone I love very much ... a very good friend of mine," she said.  "And I would do anything to take that pain away from him."

"Would you kill for him?" Grissom asked.

"I would die for him," she answered instead.

"But would you kill for him?" Grissom pressed.

"If it would make it all go away ... I would be tempted.  But no, I don't _think_ I could kill anyone except to protect the life of another," she said, obviously torn between her ethics and her emotions.  "But then again, Grissom, there are a lot of things that I know are wrong, that I never thought I'd do, but that I've done anyway," she shrugged.  

"I'm proud of you.  You were very strong.  Often I'm faced with a choice between what I know is right and what my heart wants me to do.  I know how hard it can be."

Sara snapped her eyes to him sharply, her brows knitted in thought.  Knowing his propensity for double entendres, she wondered if the course of the conversation was changing.

"That's why I was worried about you with this case.  When you are constantly confronted with a temptation to do something that seems so right to you emotionally, but goes against your ethics, well, it can wear you down, tear you apart.  Next thing you know, you can't resist anymore.  Then you've lost what respect you had for yourself."

"Sounds like you've had to be very strong about something, too," Sara said compassionately.

"It hasn't been easy, and I think I'm losing ground," Grissom admitted.  "I'm starting to doubt my ability to hold on, and I can't even remember why the ethic is important anymore."

"Maybe it's not your ethic, but someone else's that you've just accepted," she suggested.

"Maybe," he agreed.  "I don't know anymore."

"If you went against your ethic, would it hurt anyone?" she probed.

"It might," he conceded.  "I mean, it could have unintended consequences."

"Does the ethic itself hurt anyone?"

"Yes, it does," he answered.  "Two people that I know of.  Maybe more."

"You do have a dilemma then.  I don't envy you," she said gently.  "I guess I was fortunate.  When Lilith left, I didn't have to face the choice anymore."

Grissom looked up and slowly shifted his eyes to hers.  The conversation had already been very uncomfortable for him, even as vague as it was.  And now it was taking a turn that shot fear into his emotional mix.

"If it's that painful for you, maybe I can help you with your dilemma, the same way Lilith helped me," Sara offered, her voice wavering and cracking with emotion.  She fought to put a smile on her face, but it was a smile of resignation, not happiness.

"That might help with the ethics part, but what about my feelings?" he asked, struggling to force words through a desert-dry mouth.

"Feelings change," she said simply.  

His face looked pained and he was struggling to control the swirl of emotions that was bombarding him with demands and questions.  

"Sara," he sighed.  "I was telling you the truth.  I really don't know what to do about this."  He looked at her, hoping she would see that he would not be that conflicted unless he loved her very much.  If nothing else, he wanted her to know that.

"I do," she said quietly but firmly, holding his gaze.  She leaned in and kissed him on the cheek, her hand softly on his other cheek.  She stepped back and turned wordlessly.  Facing the door, she paused.  "Goodbye, Grissom," she breathed, hanging her head, her body starting to curl in on itself, collapsing into the cavernous hole where her heart had been.

"Sara," he said suddenly, knowing he might never have another opportunity.  "You know that I love you ... right?"

"Yes.  I didn't before, but I do now," she answered, still unable to face him.  "I love you, too," she replied.  

Sara took another halting step towards the door, her hand braced against the frame to steady herself.  "You know, it's just like the case.  Just because you've finally got all the facts out in the open, doesn't mean it's all going to work out all right," she said sadly, just before she left his office for they both felt was the very last time.  

A/N:  This was the original ending, intended to be more like the ending to one of the episodes.  But for all the die-hard 'shippers out there ... an alternate ending is coming!


	8. Chapter 8

** Title:              **Sympathy for the Devil

**Author:            **Burked

**Email:**             res0rvm5@verizon.net

**Disclaimer:            **CSI is a registered trademark of CBS, Inc.  

"Where's our little ray of sunshine?" Nick asked facetiously.

"If you're referring to Sara, she's taking some personal time," Grissom answered dismissively, shuffling through the assignments.

"Personal time?" Catherine asked.

"Yes, personal time," Grissom answered, too gruffly.  "She's allowed to take time off, just like everyone else."

"Sure she's allowed to, but how often has she ever done it?" Warrick asked unbelieving, his brow pulled down into lines.

"She's doing it now," Grissom barked.  "She put a lot into the last case, and I think it's wise of her to take a day or two to rest," he told them.

Though they sat facing Grissom, three sets of eyes shifted back and forth between each other, sending silent questions across the table.  The answers came in raised eyebrows, frowns, and minute shrugs.

Grissom mechanically assigned the cases and dismissed the team, grateful for the opportunity to get out of the room.  He had lied to them, and they probably all suspected it.  They didn't know what was going on yet, but Grissom assumed that it wouldn't take more than a few minutes before one of them contacted Sara and found out.

He desperately needed to talk to her first.  He was hoping to convince her to do just what he had told the crew:  take some time off, instead of quitting altogether.  If she were truly doing this for him, he could tell already that it wasn't going to work.  Where he had been confused before, he was now panicked.  The only way he had been able to face tonight was to pretend that she was only going to be gone for a little while, that she would be coming back soon.  

But he knew that she wasn't just leaving to relieve him of making a decision.  She was leaving because there should never have been a decision to make.  He loved her, and told her as much.  But apparently not enough to fly in the face of convention, protocol, or expectations.  He had allowed other people to tell him what he could or should do with his feelings – people who didn't care one iota about him or about Sara.  He felt like a coward.

He dialed her number, hoping she wouldn't see his number on the caller ID and screen him out.

"Hello, Grissom," she answered in a controlled voice.

"Hey, Sara," he returned, trying not to sound as leaden as he felt.  "I need a favor."

"What?" she asked cautiously.

"Please don't tell the others you quit.  Not yet.  I told them you were taking some personal time," he admitted.

"Why did you do that?  You know they'll find out sooner or later," she warned.

"I just couldn't say it.  Give me some time to digest it, okay?" he asked, his voice breaking.

Concerned, Sara asked, "Hey, are you okay?"

"I don't think so," he confessed.

"It will get better ... in time," she said philosophically, though she wasn't sure that she was convinced by her own words.

"Are you sure?" he asked, in a sadly hopeful, if unconvinced, voice.

"You know what they say, 'Time heals all wounds'," Sara quoted half-heartedly.

For a few seconds, the phone line was silent, and Sara wasn't sure if he had hung up.  "Grissom?" she asked.  "Still there?"

"Can I come see you?"

"I don't think that's going to help either one of us," Sara admonished.  At the clicking sounds of her call-waiting, Sara told him to hang on while she checked her other call.  In a few seconds she returned to Grissom.

"That was Catherine," Sara chuckled.  "Didn't take her long."

"What did you tell her?"

"That I was taking some time off," Sara answered, unsure why she should go along with this farce.

"Thank you," Grissom exhaled.  

"How long are you going to keep this from them?" she asked.

"I don't know what to tell them.  What do I say?"

"Tell them ..." she paused, thinking, "What's the catch-phrase?  Oh, yeah.  Tell them I'm exploring other career opportunities.  It may not have been the reason, but it's the outcome."

"I don't think they'll settle for that."

"Then tell Catherine the truth.  Let her tell the others.  You didn't do anything wrong, you followed the rules, so what are you afraid of?" she asked, challenging him.

"Can we talk about this in person?" he asked.  

"I don't know if I can see you right now," she admitted, her voice just over a whisper.

"I don't think I can _not_ see you right now," Grissom countered.  "I'm not too proud to beg, Sara.  Please let me come over.  Just for a little while."

"All right, Grissom," she relented.  "Just for a little while.  Just to finish this conversation.  Then we've got to make a clean break.  It's the only way to do it," she advised him.

"I'll be there in fifteen minutes," he said excitedly, hanging up and grabbing his keys.  Nick had been waiting for him in the break room, having been paired with Grissom for the night's case.  Grissom yelled for him to go to the scene without him as he hurried past.

It seemed so surreal that they were going through all this to break up when they were never really together.  'How the hell did _that_ happen?' she asked herself.  'This is so unfair to have to go through the bad part when I never got the good part.'

* * * * *

Sara felt like only a few minutes had passed when a strong knock sounded on her door.  Filled with both dread and excitement, she made her way to the foyer and swung the door open.  

"Lillian Corte, I presume," Sara said in surprise, facing the woman who she had only seen on a driver's license photo.

"It's so nice to meet you," Lillian said, extending a hand.  Sara took it and gave it a few distracted shakes.  "May I come in?"

"Uh, sure," Sara said, directing her towards the living room.  Sara started to shut the door, but thought to leave it open just enough for Grissom to notice that it wasn't latched.  She hoped that from the living room it would look closed.

"We thought you had left," Sara said, moving around to sit on the couch next to the chair where Lillian was lounging comfortably.

"I didn't want to leave without saying goodbye," Lillian laughed.  

"You could have called.  It would have been safer," Sara suggested.

"I wanted to meet you.  You were the only one who ever put it all together.  I'm sorry I have to take the wind out of your sails by leaving," Lillian apologized.

"No wind out of my sails," Sara told her.  "My role is strictly to collect and analyze evidence.  I did my job.  And I hardly did this by myself.  Grissom and Catherine worked on it, along with Captain Brass.  We are a team.  The rest is up to the courts."

"So none of the rest matters to you?" Lillian asked.

"It matters to me as a person, but it doesn't impact what I do on the job."

"How do you separate them?" Lillian asked, genuinely curious.

"I can because I'm not the judge, jury and executioner.  If I had to make the final determination on every case, then it would be harder to separate out my feelings about either the victims or the suspects.  But that's why we have a different mandate from that of the police or the courts.  The evidence we uncover could be used by the defense as readily as the prosecution."

"No offense intended, but it sounds like you are hiding behind a job description."

"Maybe.  But you're hiding, too.  If you are so convinced of the rightness of your actions, why are you afraid to explain them to a jury of your peers?"

"You think they would give me a jury of my peers?  That would be twelve women who were repeatedly raped from the age of four to the age of sixteen.  If I were to face such a jury, I would have no fear," Lillian explained.

"You let him win," Sara said sadly.  "Instead of proving that you are a viable human being, capable of being happy and contributing to society, you are still trying to punish your attacker by killing these other men."

"I feel like I _am_ contributing to society, by ridding it of these vermin," Lillian countered.

"Let's agree to disagree for now," Sara suggested.  "Want something to drink?" she asked, rounding the breakfast bar into the kitchen.  The last thing she wanted was for Lillian to become agitated and leave.

* * * * *

Grissom raised his hand to knock when he noticed that the door was slightly ajar.  Thinking Sara may have purposely left it open for him, he gingerly pushed it open with one finger, peering through the widening gap.  

Seeing Sara and an unknown woman sitting on the couch talking, he breathed out his disappointment.  He began to turn to leave when it suddenly struck him who the other woman was.  Her face, at this moment full of laughter and camaraderie, didn't look all that much like her driver's license picture, but then again, whose does?

He retreated down the walkway and called Brass, who warned him to keep an eye on the situation, but not to approach them.  Brass took Grissom's hanging up as an indication that he heard and understood.  

He heard.  He understood.  But he had no intention of leaving Sara alone with a serial killer.  He knew that Lillian thought they had a connection, but how would she react if she sensed Sara had been deceiving her?  At least he hoped she had been deceiving her;  he was still unsure.

Taking a deep breath, Grissom pushed through the door.  "Hi, honey, I'm back," he said brightly, as he walked over to the couch to kiss Sara.  "Oh!  I didn't know we were having company tonight."

"Grissom, this is Lillian Corte," Sara introduced, mentally coming up to speed with his ruse.  It was apparent to Sara that he wanted it to look like it was natural for him to be there.

"I'm sorry.  I didn't recognize you," Grissom said, pretending to be a bit shocked that she was there.

"I recognized you, Dr. Grissom," Lillian said, tilting her head to look between Grissom and Sara, seeing a side to them that she had apparently missed in her many months of research.  

Grissom took a seat next to Sara and unobtrusively wrapped one of her hands in his.  Though the touch, like the kiss before it, was not intended to be real, it was difficult for Grissom not to internally react to the closeness.  He had missed touching her, even if it had always been incidental.  He fought back his smile as he looked sidelong at Sara;  she met his gaze for a moment, then turned to Lillian.

Lillian could see the emotion that passed between them, and was satisfied that this was not a trick.

"I have to say, Dr. Grissom, that I am surprised," Lillian said.  "In all of my research, I never suspected that you and Sara were seeing each other ... socially, I mean."

"We try to be discreet," he shrugged.

"Isn't that against the rules?" she challenged Sara.

"Yes, technically, it is," Sara admitted.

"Another case where you can separate out your personal ethics from your work ethics?" Lillian probed.

"At work, we uphold the policies we agreed to when we were hired.  We were obviously successful if you were unable to discern our relationship," Grissom answered.  "What we do on our own time is nobody's business."  Grissom gave Sara's hand an almost undetectable squeeze.  

Sara thought she had understood what Grissom was doing and why.  But she was beginning to get confused again.  He always managed to flummox her, even when he did something nice – especially when he did something nice.  

"So, tell me, Dr. Grissom, where do _you_ stand on the morality of my actions?" Lillian asked.

"I understand the instinct for retribution, but I don't believe that murder can ever be justified," Grissom answered.  "And if all you wanted was to remove them from society, you certainly wouldn't castrate and degrade them."

Lillian nodded her understanding.  "I admit that I feel that they deserve a punishment that fits their crimes.  I can see where you, as a man, would see it as 'over the top'.  But what if it were you, as a little boy, who had faced one of them?"  

Lillian could see that Grissom was still unmoved by her argument, though he didn't respond. 

"What if it were Sara?" she asked.  She struck a nerve there – she could see the pain and anger flash through his eyes.  His entire body tensed, but he managed to bring it under control when Sara tightened her grasp on his hand reassuringly for a moment.

"I would want him brought to justice, but I ... I ... I don't know about the rest," he finally admitted.  

"Haven't you ever thought about it before?" Lillian pressed.

"Why should I?" Grissom asked, shifting uncomfortably on the couch.  

"Keeping secrets, Sara?" Lillian said, fixing Sara with a gaze.

"No.  I've already discussed this with Grissom," she said, squeezing his hand.  "It didn't happen to me, but to a guy I work with – a very good friend of mine."

Sara had managed to surprise both of them.  She had told Grissom it was a male friend, but she had not said it was someone she works with.  Images of each of the men on the staff began to flip through his mind like a slide show.  

He wondered who it was, but he didn't really want to know.  '... A very good friend of mine' echoed in his mind, and suddenly the other images faded, leaving only one.  Sara only had one 'very good friend' at work.

"I'm not sure I believe you," Lillian said carefully, eyes squinted.

Sara shrugged.

Grissom wasn't sure what to believe.  He knew that if it had happened to him, he would never tell anyone, under any circumstance, no matter how much he loved or trusted them.  He knew that Sara was a little more open than he was, but not by much.  If it had happened to her, would she tell him?

Was she telling the truth about the friend?  Was she making that up just to stall Lillian?  If it were true, was it really Nicky?  Was this a shared experience that brought Sara and Nicky closer together?  Grissom's mind was churning.  It reminded him of why he didn't get close to other people:  their pain becomes your pain.

"Well, I won't impose on you any longer," Lillian said, getting up.  "I just wanted to say goodbye and congratulate you on a job well done," she said, holding out a hand to Sara and then to Grissom.

"You don't have to hurry off on my account," Grissom said, trying to stall her, knowing Brass would arrive any moment.

"I can't stay anywhere too long," Lillian said.  "You know, at first, Detective Brass didn't impress me all that much.  He seemed like all the other detectives I've dealt with.  But he's turned out to be a persistent bugger.  I half-expect to turn around and find him right behind me at any moment," she snorted.

"You mean, like now?" Brass asked her.  He had entered the room quietly, leaving two uniformed cops at the door.  He was angry with Grissom for ignoring him, but glad that Grissom had situated himself close to Sara, and out of the line of fire.  He stood a few feet behind Lillian, his service weapon trained on her.

Lillian looked up at Sara and Grissom, a sad smile on her face.  She was disappointed in herself for letting herself be deceived so easily.  She just wanted to believe that someone, anyone, understood.  She had thought that Sara did.  

Sara looked down, unable to maintain eye contact.  She loosened her grip on Grissom's hand to allow him to let go, now that his diversion was no longer necessary, but he didn't.

"She didn't know the police were coming," Grissom explained to Lillian.  "I called them."

"Lillian Corte, you are under arrest," Brass began, waving the other police officers inside.  One approached Lillian and handcuffed her while Brass recited her rights.

"You know what's funny?  I will no doubt end up on Death Row.  Meanwhile, if I hadn't done what I did, those men would have raped and maybe killed innocent children.  They would certainly have killed their souls, if not their bodies.  And in the blink of an eye, they would be out of prison and back at it.  It just doesn't seem right," she trailed off, shaking her head.

The two policemen escorted Lillian Corte to the cruiser, to begin the end she had known would come eventually.

Brass looked over at Grissom and Sara, purposefully ignoring their still-joined hands.  He nailed Grissom with a glare.  "You and I will talk later about your department's recent confusion on its role in law enforcement," he promised.

Grissom and Sara looked at each other with childlike guilt.  Once Brass left, Sara couldn't help but tease Grissom:  "You better hope he doesn't tell your boss.  I can tell you from personal experience that it doesn't go over well."

"If Carvallo starts in on me, I'll just ask him out to dinner.  I can tell you from personal experience that that will certainly derail his train of thought," he teased back.

"Phew!" Sara exhaled.  "I'm glad that this case is over.  A little too intense for me."  Again, she loosened her grip on his hand, to allow him to disengage.  Again, he didn't.

"Sara, you said that the case was like our relationship, that just because we knew what the facts were, didn't mean it would work out.  Well, the case worked out.  Don't you think maybe it could work out with us, too?" Grissom asked.  "I want to try."

"You want to stay and talk?" she asked hopefully.

"I can't.  I'm on duty tonight.  But I can come back after shift is over.  Can we talk then?"

Sara couldn't help but be a little disappointed.  She had hoped that just this once she would be the most important thing to him.

Sensing her withdrawal, Grissom pulled her chin up to look at him.  "What I said to Lillian is true.  While I am at work, I have to follow their rules.  But when I'm not at work ..."  He smiled at her and shrugged innocently.  "It's the only way I can make this work for me."

"I understand," she said a little hesitantly.

"I hope so.  The two most important things in my life are you and my work.  I don't want to lose either one.  So, I have to be faithful to each in its own time," he said, hoping she wouldn't be disappointed in him anymore;  he was sick to death of disappointing her.

Sara looked down and smiled, bringing her free hand to their joined ones, lightly running her fingers along the back of his hand.  

"Can I hitch a ride to the lab with you?" she asked.  "Shift started hours ago, and I'm late for work."  Sara grinned at him – that smile he hadn't seen in months, that smile that made him feel alive again.  He wanted to hold her and kiss her so much that both his mind and body ached, but he reminded himself that he only had to wait a few more hours.  

'God, I love it when it all starts falling into place,' Grissom thought, walking her to his car.

A/N:  Now, let your own imaginations run wild.  It will be so much better than anything I could possibly write.

Sorry to those who wanted Lillian to get away.  It was a plot symmetry thing, you know?

**Thanks for all the kind reviews.  But with betas like Mossley and LSI, how could I fail?**


End file.
